#speaking of the planning on writing more prose soon

[verishere]

💯⌛️?

I only noticed this ask about half an hour ago and it has taken me that entire time to find what the ask game even was (This ask was sent two days ago, and I completely forgot about this lol)

How many words does your current WIP have? How many do you hope it will have?

400 words on the dot, surprisingly. Somewhere around 5k I'd like, though more reasonably it will likely be somewhere between 1000-2000.

How long have you been working on this WIP?

No idea exactly! I made the file 12 days ago, but I have no memory of if I wrote in it immediantly or if I procrastinated for a few days. At most 12 days ago for actual writing though. Since I started planning the project, about three weeks.

[swifty-fox]

2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 19, 25, 27, 28, 38

girl lmao

buckle in!

2. Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

Flower shop/tattoo artist au i would CRUSH and I believe that. I might do one for a Christmas fic hmmm

3. Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole?

de-age fic or like the ones where they get turned into kids. Nope!!!!

5. Share one of your strengths.

I'm really good at writing gore. I need to flex it more in this fandom

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

oh it's gotta be this sequence from Plane Crash:

Johnny thinks eventually, perhaps sometime very soon, he’s going to hate fireworks. They pop and crackle around him in bursts of light and color and sound. Set off by joyful triumphant men who chase their shining wakes like boys after a toyboat in the gutter, laughing and prancing and reaching for those bright bursts of fire and gunpowder.

I’ve seen this before , he thinks, Algeria, Bremen, Regensburg, Munster . 

If he closes his eyes he sees their glitter trails, smells the sweet smoke when he inhales. He doesn’t hate it, not yet, because today’s the second happiest day of his fucking life , but he thinks someday soon he will.

 Standing there, a bottle of gin held loosely in his fingers, Johnny tilts his head to the sky and almost weeps that there is no snow. The smell of honeysuckle is thick like molasses in the air, and he opens his mouth to taste it on his tongue as red and green and blue as blue as the sky flashes across his lids. It’s sweet. The firework ash is bitter.

Voices cheer, rising in song, and jokes, and varying degrees of mirth. Some men are crying, joyful, and wild. Some men are crying, broken and grieved, and tucked under the arms of their buddies.

The war is over.

Frank Murphy, James Douglass, and Charlie Cruikshank are gathered around a burning barrel, trading cigarettes and stories and shouting over each other like it was a game of who could be the loudest amongst them. Ev Blakely is speaking quietly with Helen Kerr, stooped at the shoulders to be heard. Petrohelos and Blum and Hoerr and McCusker and every single boy come home and all the boys who were still around and they’re all safe and alive and Johnny counts them, spinning in a slow circle while mouthing the words. 

“You drunk Captain?”

For a moment Johnny thinks it’s Curtis Biddick speaking, though the accent is as far from a Bronx mumble as one could be and Curt was dead. But the cadence, the sudden appearance of a figure, and here on the hardstand where Johnny had once begged the other man to tell him how to be queer, is enough to make him jump.

He whips his head around and then relaxes, nodding stiffly, “Lemmons.”

“Mind if I–?” Ken gestures to the cigarette in his hands and then the lighter in Johnny’s breast pocket, “Mine seems to have been stolen.”

There are lines on the kid's face that shouldn’t be there for another decade and grey in his hair that hadn’t been present before Johnny had gone down. He’s never seen Joy look so tired on a man. 

Fumbling for his pocket he leans to light Lemmons’ cigarette, watching the other man inhale with fluttering eyelashes, brows drawing together. 

“Not drunk,” Johnny says after a moment, raises the bottle of gin, “Haven’t gotten that far in the plan yet.” 

“Falling behind,” Ken comments on his exhale, accent buttery and drawling, fallin’ bahaind.

Wind drags the smoke towards Johnny and he stiffens, a cold hand ghosting over his shoulder. He turns his head in another sharp movement, taking in the fancy script of the pack in Ken’s hand. Familiar as a cologne, Johnny only knew a few men on the base who smoked Chesterfields. And on the lid, a scribbled drawing in red pen because the previous owner had been viciously protective of his things and hated using his signature. 

“Curt’s cigarettes,” He says without thinking.

Ken laughs, breathless, and turns the pack over to look at the drawing of an angel wing, “Ah, yeah. Left ‘em on my toolbox one morning and I figured ���” 

He stops, swallows, and shakes his head with a smile that’s far too old for his young face. Johnny’s pretty sure the kid couldn’t even drink yet back in the States. 

“ – Well I figured I’d give him a little celebration. He’s not here to light up in celebration himself so…” He trails off and shrugs, placing the pale stick back between his lips. 

“I didn’t realize you were close like that,” Johnny says awkwardly. He resists the urge to check his watch, well aware of the night ticking away. He’d picked up the gin for a reason. 

“Well sure, he was always down on the hardstand buggin’ me about his girl wasn’t he?” 

Girl could mean Curt’s fort, dead and buried as he was. Girl could mean some made-up dame to feed Curt’s games. 

“It’s crazy isn’t it,” Ken says suddenly, voice wild and breathless, “We knew him for months, just months. And now he’s been dead for years. Crazy. You can know a man for only months and he becomes something important .” 

Johnny’s heart pounds as he thinks of dry clicking bone and empty eyes. 

Ken seems to shake himself and reaches out and claps Johnny on the shoulder, seemingly unbothered at the sharp jut of it concealed under army regulation cotton, “I’m keeping you. It’s been an honor, Sir.” 

 Johnny blinks at him, has enough presence of mind to nod his head, toss a salute that Ken returns with solemnity, and wanders off into the revelry. 

He’s a ghost, mostly. Unknown to a majority of the remaining men. A name, a vague face, or a story tossed around the Officers club late at night. Oh yeah, old Captain Brady, crashed three forts before his luck ran out. Here and there he receives a clap on the shoulder from friends and strangers alike, but mostly he’s able to make his way through the celebrations with ease. Past the barracks and showers and down the hill to one of the original buildings on the base, real stone foundation and wood walls and a cross hanging above the door next to a shiny silver horseshoe that he brushes his fingers against as he passes into the Chapel. 

i think Plane Crash in general is some of my best writing in terms of voice and pacing and poetic writing. But this sequence especially was just so fun to write and reread. This entire chapter (Ch 5) is some of my best work

8.Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Oh man ALL my dialogue from Two Fingers Down (my bikeriders au) is sooooo good I think. It's really quick and snappy and clever and Gale and John especially have a ton of verbal chemistry in this one. It just flowed.

“I want to photograph you,” He says, watching Gale break, sink one and then a second ball into the pocket. Misses on the third but lines John up for an easy shot.

“In distinction from what y’were doing before, of course.”

“Aw that, that was just some pig-tail pulling,” John winks, takes three balls for himself, and scratches on the fourth.

“Aint nobody’s muse.”

“We can debate the semantics of that later, but I’m not gonna start shoving a camera in your face now that you’re back if all it’ll get me is a broken nose and a broker camera.” 

Gale didn’t look away from his surveying of the pool table, voice almost absent. Competitive then, if not a gambler, “Haven’t broken it yet, have I?”

“Ample time.”

Gale knocks away the solid John had been aiming to drop into the middle pocket and he curses at the blonde good-naturedly. “I mean out on the road, at meets. Maybe interview you a bit.” 

“Interview me?” Gale raises an eyebrow, the pale arch vanishing under the few locks of hair that had come out of its careless styling, “What’s there to know? I ride bikes.”

John tilts his head lazily, “Think it’s unfair that you seem to know all these things about me, and I don’t know a lick about you.” 

“Hmm,” Gale hums, watching John miss his next shot before stepping back up to plate, “They hit me with a 4F out in Sheridan.”

“On account of you running coke for the Cubans?”

Gale’s lips twitch, “Somethin’ like that Bucky.”

19.Stephen King once said that his muse is a man who lives in the basement. Do you have a muse?

my specialist boy

25. What do you look for in a beta?

i literally have no idea LOL. Ideally we're friends first, someone I trust to look at my stuff and not steal it/be honest about the quality.

27.How do you feel about collaborations?

I got a few cookin' with @reallylilyreally and @euph0riacc

I am also known to help with plot and titling on a @Stereobone fic here and there. Also just. A lot of fics out there lmao I have my fingers in many pots.

28.Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

@reallylilyreally i think is just so phenomenal in the sense that she almost writes threeway relationships better than just two? which isn't to say her one-on-one ship fics aren't AMAZING But idk the ability to balance and interweave three people is where she shines and also so much talent in that? I am in awe I wish I could dissect her brain and steal it for myself and also give her a big hug

@stereobone is like i mean a classic, a given. A wonderful friend and collaborator in the background and also helps me when my phrasing is dumb. But as an author I mean they just. get the era. get the vibes. they dive into the psychology behind sex in a way that's so so so fun. Me every time: he WOULD say that

@blixabargelds i think is a master of AU's. and Trauma. They visceral nature of their writing both in description and subject matter is just insane. It's dirty and uncomfortable and raw and most importantly doesn't feel exploitative (except when that's the point >:) ) their stuff is FUNNY it's painful! it makes me CRINGE (positive) and then want more. It's definitely not fic for the faint of heart. But if you want to be challenged and you want it to be raw this is a great author to explore. Their Roman Roy/Succession stuff is DELIGHTFUL

listen. theres so many. theres so many amazing talented wonderful people I could and want to keep going. @rambleonwaywardson @avonne-writes @middlingmay @johnslittlespoon @whirlpool-blogs @feyd-meowtha @joeyalohadream @irregularcollapse @anachilles @euph0riacc and that's just what I can see in my DM's. Theres SO many and you're all amazing <3

38.Talk about a review that made your day.

OMG THIS ONE THE OTHER DAY I WAS SENDING IT AROUND TO EVERYONE:

Reading this side-by side re-reading this chapter from KFAK and have so many thots.

I find John's self-destructiveness interesting, especially as he seems to observe himself actively *being* self-destructive, drinking while driving, and actively trying to piss off Gale. Seems almost like he wants to sabotage his own happiness as if he doesn't feel he deserves it. Oh, buddy, if only you knew that no matter how much you piss off Gale he'll still love you, even if he doesn't always like what you do.

"he squashes the sudden flare of jealousy. No way was he about to lose the final step in his three part plan to be his old self to a guy who didn’t even like snatch." Oooh John you are *so* close to actually getting why you're actually jealous. Also of *course* he'd call pussy "snatch."

John's bright but so clouded by his own self-loathing that it's not surprising that he mistakes Gale's awkwardness and attraction to John as disliking or being angry with him before John even does anything to anger Gale. "a man who’d rather gnaw a limb off than admit discomfort" is a pretty apt way to describe Gale. I also like him kind of vaguely realizing what gay flirting looks like in real time and John immediately touching Gale's back like 'mine.' No wonder James got mixed signals almost immediately.

“This one was such a cold fish he saw me wrestling with the guards and took his chance to sprint right for the trees.” *Spritzes him in the face with cold water* No! Bad John! I think even being in his mind and knowing that he really didn't mean anything offensive or cruel by it, he seems to be in denial of how easily his words could be construed to mean that he thinks Gale's a heartless coward, and he knows Gale fears that he is and feels guilty about running. He seems to be both trying to push Gale away because he feels he's too damaged and self-destructive to have him but also has trouble gauging what actually hurts him or not.

Part of what makes John such an intriguing and memorable character is that while he's a likable, lovable guy who's brave, funny, and charismatic, he's also flawed and occasionally immature in a way that's frustrating but deeply human, and that's reflected here. His jealousy over Gale not focusing all of his attention on him and being angry at not being "in" on Gale's private conversation with someone else is childish and exasperating but that is where his mindset is; he's been increasingly agitated over a lot of things for quite some time and even as he's not fully willing to admit even to himself that he has feelings for Gale he still wants Gale's attention and adoration is if they were a couple. Reading this concurrently with KFAK I find it kind of funny that Gale's pointedly noticing John flirting with Eunice before John interrupts his conversation with James but in this John doesn't even think about it. It truly means more to Gale than it does to John.

Okay! Yes! There it is! I like how it takes hearing Gale say "Get your cock wet, John" for him to be slammed with the fact that he's attracted to Gale. It's only taken multiple instances of thinking about how beautiful he is to realize it. That his possessive streak that's been going on with Gale isn't just because he's his best friend, but something more, and how he can't take his eyes off of him even as he's about to hook up with a pretty girl.

I'm interesting in reading John's perspective when he sees the fight between Gale and James, and the aftermath of that. Also because I'm hooked again I'm going to reread KFAK.

[rriavian]

For a prompt from @windsweptinred for the flower prompts we're doing with @bobbole. Still unfinished but I already had a short wip that the prompt worked really well with, and it was the kick I needed to get going with it a little more. Still very very rough but thought I'd share :) Hope you like it! <3

The Corinthian and Calliope: Rose, yellow, A murderer's confession, Prompt Jealousy—

After his failure to persuade Ethel Cripps to work with him the Corinthian seeks out another who might have cause to seek revenge against Dream.

Calliope surprises him.

-

Calliope knows the Corinthian, of course.

She had met Dream’s masterpiece while she was married.

She had heard of him long before, an impression built by Dream’s soft smile, the excitement glittering subtle in his eyes as he told her of his latest creation, a design he traced in sand as if proud to show off even an outline. Calliope has not seen the Corinthian since—to be expected, given both how she’d parted ways with Morpheus and the reality of her current situation—a surprise when she hears the door to her room open, sees a bloodstained knife glitter in the light. Next it catches in golden blond hair, scatters from the gleam of teeth; a memory in that too, of Oneiros and his painstaking hunt for exactly the right shades, his dedication to it, unwilling to give anything less than his very best to every single thing he made.

Calliope must admit she still admires him for that.

Then her eyes find the changes, the additions, the soft cream of the Corinthian’s coat, the dark opaque sunglasses hiding biting mouths. There is a deliberate slowness in how he now cleans the bloodied knife, how he wants her to watch it, to think about what must have happened to the only other occupant in Richard Madoc’s house. Calliope can feel that her captor isn’t dead, can feel it in the chains that keep her trapped here, knows exactly why this nightmare has approached her like this.

The Corinthian is a story stood close enough that she can read her former husband’s writing in the blurb, a compliment to the Corinthian’s own script when she reads further to find his finely printed prose.

He wants leverage.

“Corinthian.” Calliope greets calmly. “It has been some time.”

“Fancy finding you here.” The Corinthian replies with a sharp, mocking grin, not even bothering to pretend this wasn’t planned. “An oddly poetic coincidence, given what’s happened to Dream.”

He thinks to lure her into asking.

Calliope won’t.

“Do not speak to me of poetry.”

The Corinthian pauses. “You already know, don’t you?”

“That Oneiros has been captured? Yes.”

It amuses her that the Corinthian thought to tell her, thought to begin the game with the upper hand. The Fates had filled in more details, had gloated when she’d called for help, but even before that Calliope had known that Morpheus was missing. Of course she’d known, how could she not?, how could any immortal remain unawares to the disappearance of Dream of the Endless?

"He's free now." The Corinthian replies, leans against the door frame as if a slouch will make the words less targeted, throws hope at her and watches for a flinch. "Do you think he'll come for you?"

Calliope must admit that makes her stiffen.

"Do you think he will if I call him?"

A shrug.

There's tension though.

There's a minute grimace trying to twist the Corinthian's lips, a page torn out before Calliope can read it. The grin remains. He stays smug, grounds himself to it, more than a little overconfident because he’s gloating far too soon.

“I did it, you know. Strengthened the trap.” The Corinthian says slyly, watches her from where he's still leaning in the doorway, watches how Calliope sits on this bed in Richard Madoc's house while a few feet a way a door has long since stood unlocked. “It’s my fault he was there for so long.”

Now it's Calliope's turn to shrug. “So?”

The Corinthian seems entertained by her tone, even as it confuses him, even as he tries to get his teeth around it. “I want to ensure he’ll be gone a lot longer.”

“Then I wish you well in finding the luck you are hoping for, because you will certainly be needing it.” Calliope replies coolly.

“C’mon,” The Corinthian has been lazily circling his point like a vulture, like a wolf guiding prey towards a favoured terrain, now still as he prepares to lunge. “Aren’t you the least bit tempted?”

“By what?”

“Revenge.”

He’s said it because the Corinthian thinks it's something of what she wants. He thinks it’s bait that isn’t possible to resist, thinks it because there is a similar desire in him, sitting unrealised in his chest like a stone. Calliope wonders what her former husband did, wonders if it even matters, because she also knows that revenge is a second, a flicker, a blink in response to a blinding. It’s too fast, too instant to really register for someone as long lived as her; she cannot feast on something so small.

“Is that what this is to you? Revenge?”

He laughs. “Well, not only.”

“Tell me what else.” Calliope commands. “If you want my help then tell me why.”

The Corinthian thinks faster than hesitation can register.

He switches plans at the same smooth speed, and it’s a truth he’d not wanted to lead with, bait he was saving only for a moment suited to the greater power of its sting. “I won’t go back to the Dreaming. I quite like it here, and so it’s not just about revenge. It’s about freedom.”

How like a nightmare to dream of a concept even humanity longs for.

How like a nightmare to think the guarantee of it can be found in their world. 

“If you can only be so when Morpheus is trapped,” Calliope says; sat there on this bed in a thin nightdress, chained to a mortal by the laws of her own kind, chained to a man who ‘needs’ her gifts to give him the life he thinks he deserves. “If your own freedom relies on the imprisonment of another—"

She shrugs.

“Then can you really say you’re free at all?”

[dojunie]

as a writer myself too, i definitely get the frustration of writer's block. ur better than me tho could never write fiction this good. if it's a script maybe i can stumble my way towards it but like- prose, prose??? scary stuff HAHAHHA. i'm wayyy more used to writing features, editorial and stuff like that so writing creatively paralyzes me fr probs should get over it HAHAHHA

speaking of writing tho, recently got my first ever job (full time over the summer and part time when i get back to school!) helping this creator write content for a website she's launching and probs gonna be helping her with her podcast too hehe (i'm also more of a broadcast person too over like publication writing so that's gonna be fun). so life's been reallyyyy busy. like i started preparing for freelance work since may and after like- 11 applications so glad i finally got a job but damn being paid to do something is a whole different kind of pressure. doing my best but sometimes i'm scared it won't be good enough and i'll just get fired HAHAHAH the days are starting to get blurry too bc i've kinda just been cooped up at home. anddd been trying to ✨adult✨ too by getting my driver's license, tax number, social security and all that but ghad with a job? idt i'll have the time to fix all that anymore. and i'm hoping to take the topik too so :">

times like this are when im rlly glad i got dream. like they rlly just give me that energy boost HAHAHAH (AND WITH THE NEW COMEBACK SOON??? AHHHH) r they like that for u too? i swear this is the first time i've wanted to get a tattoo for an artist like woah

oh and SPEAKING OF i was in the manila concert day 1 all the way in the farthest section. actually got really determined to work bc of that experience bc i am determined to go both days vip the next time they're in manila HAHAHHA. happy to say i'll most likely earn enough to do that by next month hehe. gonna treat myself for the hard work by getting mark's bubble HAHAHHA

haven't gotten to reading the new renjun fic updates (unless my eyes are deceiving me and i read that wrong & there r not updates) but! i'm rlly looking forward to it. hoping both of us have enough writing juices to finish up the things we're working on HAHAHHA. and i hope you're doing well with school or work or whatever your doing too! and when things get tough hope u have a support system there for ya :>

anywayy i'll go skidaddle now HAHHAHA worked 8hrs today so 💀 byee

(p.s. by any chance do u have any plans of writing any series for mark? would KILL to have ur writing bring his character to life if not that's SUPERRRR chill too frfr jus curious hehe)

frm the biggest phatest markf,

-covid anon 🤒 HAHAHAH

you calling my 'ripping my hair out slamming words into the keyboard at 1am' writing prose is such a huge compliment my dear covid anon, you have no idea. never in my life have i considered anything ive written to be like... serious... because i just enjoy writing about a bunch of singin dancin boys, but. i do put an obscene (and embarrassing) amount of care and work and thought into this little fanfiction thing and i just. thank you? blowing kisses all the way to your timezone

anddd been trying to ✨adult✨ too by getting my driver's license, tax number, social security and all that but ghad with a job? idt i'll have the time to fix all that anymore. and i'm hoping to take the topik too so :">

GODDAMN! you have your plate full, but frankly those are all really, really good and important and STRONG steps towards adulting!! you're further than me, i dont have my license yet (haven't even started, rahh, uber is my best friend) but whenever i come on here i think of you, covid anon, so hearing this makes me feel like an irl just told me they accomplished something big LOL i'm actually so happy for you. these are big steps. AND THE NEW CB IS ALREADY FUCKING ME UP! IDGAF RENJUN IN THAT LITTLE PAPERBOY CAP, LEAVE ME ALONE LEAVE ME ALONE I'M UNWELL!!!!!! today the second theme dropped (idk if you'll see this on the same day as i send it) with the energy drinks and such, and the fuckig... neon concept...!!!!!!!! i wanted to get a tattoo for my bts era like a 7 or something like that on a very tiny part of my body but then i remembered how i genuinely thought i would be a 5sos fan forever and i was like 'lets hold off on that very, very permanent decision lmfao'

AND TO ANSWER YOUR MARK QUESTION! you messaging me this actually did make me go through all of my potential wips (all.... very very many of them) and one that i found for mark that i'm actually still very interested in is an exchange student concept! little plot: mc is a part of a university exchange student program, and with that comes staying with a host family; the uni that mc is from does it in a raffle/blind matching style where you get put with a family who's profile matches with yours best, and mc gets.... the lee family! with eldest brother and vaguely famous rockstar taeyong, awkward and endearing middle child mark lee, and the night and day '00 twins'; sunshine incarnate lee donghyuck, and 'doesn't speak unless spoken to' lee jeno!!! it takes place over six months in the summer to autumn season, the first semester; and love blooms in the damndest places!

if this sounds like something you'd like, maybe i could fandangle this for my next wip...? winky face

anyway i love you lots covid anon, i hope your adulting goes on without a hitch!!!! until you message again <3

[hellotherekenobi]

───flowers in the sun.

summary: you know fandral well enough to know how much of a flirt he is, but when he asks you to join him on a picnic one day, it turns out he has a reason behind it all with you.

a/n: dedicated to the one and only @megmeg-chan for fueling my daydreams of this man. this goes out to all my fandral lovers out there. i respect you. song i listened to while writing: flowers by in love with a ghost.

ONESHOT. ⟶ 1,616 WORDS.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Days like today were always lovely, where the sun shining made everything gleam and sparkle and the breeze were gentle, not too cold but just the perfect temperature. Of course, days like today were always lovely when they’re spent with someone equally as such, but perhaps that’s why he was given the name “dashing.” You weren’t always that interested in him, nor the warriors three, but he slipped through the cracks and you didn’t put up much of a fight once you realized how far you had fallen for him—and who could say no to a picnic out in the Asgardian fields with Fandral, anyhow?

When he had asked you earlier today, you weren’t expecting much but as soon as you had seen the spread—fruit baskets and crystal glasses, a fine linen blanket with golden patterns etched into the fabric—you knew that, once again, he managed to slip further past the cracks you’ve never bothered patching up, and probably never will with him being so close to your heart already.

“These are delicious,” the strawberry in your hand drips down your finger as you wipe your lips.

Fandral chuckles, leaning his head further back to close his eyes up at the sun, resting on one hand where he lays. “I made sure to get only the best for you, darling.”

You don’t react to the nickname, having heard that from his lips countless times before directed at many a fair maiden. “I can tell, with all the food you packed. Must have taken some convincing to sneak this out of the palace.”

“Oh no,” he smiles, tilting his head to look at you. “Not at all, my dear. Only so much convincing for you to join me.”

You smile, wiping the strawberry juice off of your hands with one of the serviettes packed. “I’ve never taken you for the picnic type.”

“Well, what is it they say? A moment is only as good as the people you spend it with.”

“And this moment?” You tease, leaning on your elbow closer to him. “How good is it?”

He doesn’t hesitate to say, “Far greater than any I’ve spent before.”

It makes you smile, looking down at your lap as you fiddle with the serviette in your hands. The confidence in his words could make anyone swoon, but you’ve always been more hopeless than hopeful as a romantic for him. Yet you still cling to it, smiling wider and letting out a chuckle, looking up again.

“Always such a charmer.”

He nods in agreement, pursing his lips slightly as he grabs his glass for another sip. There’s a moment of silence between you two, where you simply sit basking in the sun and listening to the rustling of the flowers amongst the grass as the wind blows gentle and cool. Fandral was right about moments, since this one wouldn’t be as pleasant if he weren’t beside you, but you are still wondering why you’re with him here to begin with—not that you’re complaining but time spent with Fandral was always giddy at most, throwing quips each other’s way and believing his flirts to be mere fun. Hopeless not hopeful, you remind yourself.

“When are you leaving?” you ask finally, seeing as the question was danced around before the food was even brought out.

He sighs, something tired. “Tonight.”

“And you’ll be gone for...?”

“I don’t know—” he sits up—“I’m hoping no more than a month, should everything go to plan. These things don’t usually turn out that way, however.”

You hum in agreement, knowing how long his last campaign with the warriors had been—and how you waited to see him ride back home almost everyday. “I thought you enjoyed fighting battles? I hear so many stories.”

“All in truth, I assure you.” he wags a finger for emphasis. “But when I go, I’ll miss moments like these. I’ll miss you.”

Your cheeks burn by his words. “You won’t have any time to miss me.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll think of you always.”

Hopeless. Remember it. He’s a natural born flirt, and a good one at that, but this doesn’t mean anything to him. You keep telling yourself that but the more you do, the more you think differently. Or maybe you’re just trying to deny what he might feel because of the way you feel. Cutting your thoughts short before you lose yourself, you lean over to pluck a flower from the field, twirling it in your hands to have something other than the serviette to fiddle with in the hopes that Fandral won’t notice how nervous you are. He doesn’t leave the topic unfinished, though.

“That is why I asked you to join me here. If I’m to leave tonight, I want you to be the last person I spend my day with.”

“Fandral,”

“I know,” he chuckles lightly. “Everything will be alright. I know that more than anything.”

“Because of your bravery or your silver tongue?” you joke, expecting a laugh from him but only getting a smile.

“Because I have something worth fighting for.”

“What is that?”

You think you know the answer already, most likely for Asgard or his companions—something noble—yet you don’t expect his answer when he leans over to take the flower from your fingers, twirling it once before he fastens it behind your ear, looking at you softly to say, “You.”

It’s said so sincerely that you do nothing but stare at him, watching for a furrow in his brow or the crease in his smile to tell you that he was only fooling, but he just continues to look at you, something so genuine and intimate that it could tip you over if his hand weren’t still by your ear and gently brushing along your cheek.

You don’t know what to say, so you change the topic. “Does it look alright?”

It almost takes him a moment, but he doesn’t even look at the flower, instead staring so wistfully at you that you can feel his gaze, noticing the way his eyes flicker between your own and he swallows the clearing of his throat. “Yes, well... you are always beautiful.”

You can feel your heart racing against your chest, you’re scared it might rip right through the skin. What could you reply with that won’t end in a stutter? He’s captured your heart, though you try to deny it, and maybe now you’re about ready to tear down the wall after all these years. But even when his fingers brush along your jaw so tenderly, working their way to your chin, you need more before you can let him in completely.

“I need to know,” you say so quiet like the breeze, placing your hand on top of his to still his movements. He looks at you with those swimmable eyes of his, brows furrowed in a way that makes him look like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “All of this... how you are with me... is it anything more than just Fandral the Dashing?”

He leans back slightly, like your words had shoved him backward. The look on his face changes to disbelief but so fractionally, so soft-hearted, that you could almost think he was saddened.

“Do you truly believe I have no feelings for you?” he waits for you to tell him he’s wrong, that all this time you’ve known, and when you remain silent he says, “All that I do for you, it’s all of me. Every word I speak, every touch I give, it’s a reflection of how much I care for you. My dear, I have loved you ever since we were young.”

For as long as you can remember, you have wanted to hear those words from him. Every moment you spent wondering ‘what if?’ has come to a standstill, telling you so clearly that all your doubts were for nothing. Fandral loves you, but more than that he has loved you for the beginning. It’s so much to take in that you sit there, frozen, balancing on the edge of happiness and surprise, your thoughts being too loud for you to even choose how to outwardly react.

He’s known you for so long and chuckles breathlessly when you make no move, knowing how many words must be swirling inside your head. “Must I prove myself once more for you?” His thumb rubs gently at your chin as he leans closer, smiling when he notices the way you hold your breath. “Very well.”

You can’t think to close your eyes when he leans just that much closer and presses his lips to yours—the feeling alone being too good to be true, you have to make sure you’re not dreaming. Then just as softly, all at once, you fall into him. The wall comes crumbling down as you close your eyes and kiss him back, your hand reaching out to hold onto his shirt so that this moment doesn’t drift away from you. He smiles against your lips, tilting his head to kiss you deeper and feel you press against him. As he wraps his arms around you, he begins to peck kisses along your jaw, beneath your earlobe, and scattering featherlight kisses along your neck just to hear you laugh as you squirm in his arms.

“You laugh so sweetly, I might have to kiss you more just to hear it.” he has the biggest smile on his face as he speaks, leaning in close to bump his nose against yours. You giggle as you push him back lightly, hearing him chuckle along with you. “I’ll take the sound with me until I come back home to you.”

can i get an uwu in the chat: @moonlight-prose @rebelledjester @aw--heck @americancowgirl19 @xxpoptarts @alwayssleepingforreal @awesomeri14 @karedevil4ever

[mask131]

Sandman bonus notes: Interviews (1)

In “Sandman Companion”, Neil Gaiman gave a series of interviews about each of the volumes of the Sandman. In it he reveals all sorts of fun facts, trivia and important points. This is a compilation of some of the best ones.

Since Preludes and Nocturnes, as well as The Doll’s House, will form the first season of the upcoming Sandman series, I will put HEAVY SPOILERS HERE.

PRELUDES AND NOCTURNES

# The rythm of the incantion used by Roderick Burgess was taken from “The Magic Wood” by Henry Treece. 

# Burgess is not really based on Alesteir Crowley as everyone believes. Originally Neil Gaiman wanted to use Crowley as a source of inspiraton, but found his books and his prose very unappealing. He rather got the feelings and moods surrounding Burgess from Dennis Wheatley’s “The Devil Rides Out” - though since Wheatley based his evil warlock on Crowley, technically Burgess still was indirectly inspired by him. 

# Neil Gaiman was asked about how, since Burgess died at one point Death probably met him and learned that Dream was imprisoned - then why didn’t she help him? Neil Gaiman answers to this that Death actually knew about Dream’s imprisonment as soon as he was trapped - in fact all of his siblings knew of it instantly. They simply did not rescue him because they are not a super-hero team, because saving people is not their reason for existing - they just act in their domains. As personifications, they are not causal beings - they are barely reactive beings. And even if the Endless has saved Dream, he would probably have been furious that they did so and not felt any gratitude. Why? Because he would have deemed his escape his own responsability - at the time Dream was a very rigid being. 

# Neil Gaiman explains that each issue of Preludes and Nocturnes was inspired by a different comic book genre - and that it was also an attempt at finding a balance between the horror and the super-hero comic book. In fact, he deems these first issues to be exercises more than anything, attempts at finding the true path and tone of “The Sandman”, hence why he called it “Preludes and Nocturnes” because they are preludes to the story proper. He deems that he properly found the Sandman tone starting with issue number 6. 

# In fact, issue number 6 already contains the most prevalent themes throughout the rest of the Sandman comic book - notably because it speaks of narration above all. Neil Gaiman especially highlights what is said about the waitress: she writes happy ending stories because she knows where to stop ; because she understood that when a story goes on for too long, it always ends up in death. While it seemed he had planned everything, Neil Gaiman hadn’t yet - he was waiting for the issue 8, because at the time it was usually at the eighth issue (one full year of publication) that you knew if the comic was discontinued or not. Neil Gaiman only had a full plan for The Sandman and a finished ending by issue 10. But again, he hadn’t planned everything - at the time he wanted The Sandman to only be forty issues, and it ended up being 75 issues (76 if you include Sandman Special). 

# In issue 7 there was a mistake in the printing: the flashback where Dream was seen creating the Ruby was supposed to show him entirely white, without any trace of black. White hair, white skin, white clothes: it was to show the cyclic nature of Dream, and to reveal that all new incarnations of Dream began with this white appearance. However Dream got printed in his usual black and white colors, so this bit of information was lost. 

THE DOLL’S HOUSE

# The most popular issue of Preludes and Nocturnes was issue 4, where Dream went to Hell, and so Neil Gaiman thought of giving the audience what they asked by going with “Season of Mists” right afterward - however he realized that doing so would turn Sandman into the next X-Men, and he rather wanted to do “good literature” and to give to his audience the habit of a large choice of subjects, tones and genres - thus the creation of The Doll’s House which does not focus on Dream but on Rose Walker. 

# Neil Gaiman included in the recap of the previous events (the recap of Preludes and Nocturnes) informations about things and events that did not actually appear in Preludes and Nocturnes - indeed, he thought that if someone was making the effort to read the recap, they needed to have a form of reward with this bonus information. 

# For “Tales in the Sand”, none of the stories mentionned are real - it is all a pastiche, an imitation of the African myths and folkloric tales - most notably the legends of Anansi. As for Nada’s story, Neil Gaiman wanted the reader to feel that it was a degraded story, not the absolute truth but a tale that got changed and twisted through times and retellings, until it becomes an approximation of the truth - hence why sudden fables explaining why the weaver bird is brown. 

# When Desire had sex with Unity, it did not broke the rule preventing relationships between humans and Endless. As Neil Gaiman explains, the rule is “It is forbidden to a mortal being to be in love with one of the Endless”. Here, an Endless raped in her sleep a mortal being, so this has no impact or tie to the rule. As for why the rule was invented - Neil Gaiman explains that it was mostly to create a conflict between Dream and Desire, while also to highlight the theme of this issue of “tales of men” VS “tales of women”. 

# The name of Desire’s domain, “The Threshold” comes from a story Clive Barker never wrote. This story was about the “Threshold”, a realm of pain - it was of course a joke about “thresh” and “hold”. As for the aspect of the Threshold, Gaiman decided that Desire would live in its own body because “desire lives under the skin”. 

# Dream does not need all the beings inhabiting the Dreaming to keep the dimension well and in order, in fact he could rule the place all by himself and with no one else. He only creates those Dream beings mostly because he loves company. Neil Gaiman always considered in his head that, for millenia, Dream lived utterly alone in the Dreaming, and decided he rather preferred to have other beings around him (though he would never admit it). When asked about if Dream ever tried to create himself the perfect partner, Neil Gaiman answers that he probably tried at one point - but either he got bored of her, or she ended up leaving him. But it is still entirely possible to have a relationship with a dream creation of his: the rule only forbids mortals from loving the Endless. 

# Neil Gaiman also mentions that Dream did not create all of the inhabitants of the Dreaming. Some actually fled other places or worlds and ended up here, while others entering the Dreaming by accident and stayed there. And, given the nature of the place, some inhabitants probably spontaneously appeared without Dream’s involvment. 

# The Fiddler’s Green took the appearance of G. K. Chesterton as a human, because Neil Gaiman liked the idea of a fleeing dream taking the appearance of someone it likes, rather than created a fully original appearance. 

# The language spoken in the Dreaming is the one everyone speaks in their head. 

# According to Neil Gaiman, the only time Dream is heard laughing throughout the series is when he confronts Hector Hall. Neil Gaiman also got complaints about him “killing” Hector Hall - though the character actually died much earlier, in an issue of “Infinity, Inc.”. Neil Gaiman just put his ghost to rest. 

# When creating the Corinthian, Neil Gaiman wanted someone embodying the romanticism of serial killers. Until now, serial killing hadn’t yet been presented as something cool or hip, but he knew it was about to come - for example he had noticed fanzines about serial killers, even including interviews in prison. Neil Gaiman thought that this was not hip, and it was not cool, and so he got the idea of the Corinthian’s first appearance. The Corinthian’s name comes from a 17th century slang for an immoral profligate, the kind to frequent whorehouses. Even though the Corinthian of the Sandman has no sexual activity - he rather eats eyeballs. And he is only homosexual in the sense that he prefers the eyes of boys. But to explain his name one can also come back to the original town of Corinth, of the columns, ot the advertisement to sell cars (Corinthian leather) - all of this makes the Corinthian cool and charismatic, all that Dream is not. And, as Neil Gaiman notes, Dream ends up destroying the Corinthian because he is mediocre, he is not as big, bad and evil as he should have been - he completely misunderstood why he was created. 

# The convention of serial killers is an idea that came to Neil Gaiman during the Fantasy World Convention of London, October 1988, upon realizing that a convention was mostly a reunion of very different people gathering together for a week-end to feel special, a group of persons who only have in common one same interest and obsession - be it Barbie dolls or comic books. And so he thought “Why shouldn’t serial killers have their own convention?”. 

# “Funland” was originally going to be called “Disneyland”, but it was decided to change it right before printing - and thus the mouse ears were turned into wolf ears. 

# To prepare this issue, Neil Gaiman documented himself on serial killers throughout 1988 and 1989 (which, he notes, was much less information than what people have nowadays) and he came to understand the pulsions, fantasies and justifications of the killers. In fact, this is how he noted that most serial killers have very rich and complex fantasies, and that it was how Dream could punish them : by removing their illusions, so that they could see themselves as nothing more than people killing their own kind. 

# The dream of Hal about Judy Garland searching for her face was inspired by an interview Neil Gaiman had with a profesional drag queen in London: the drag queen kept dreaming that their friends faces were being sliced up or fell into pieces. As for Zelda and Chantal, their characters were inspired by a couple of “spider women” Gaiman met one day - he couldn’t tell if they were sisters, lovers, or mother and daughter. He also took inspiration from a lesbian couple he knew, where one used the other like a ventriloquist dummy, whispering to her ear so that she would speak for her. 

# Heart is a recuring motif for “The Doll’s House”, from Rose giving her heart to Unity, to the heart of Desire - in fact in each issue, each story, you can find either a picture or the mention of a heart. 

[thelivebookproject]

Talking Books With @bluebellraven!

[What is this and how can I participate?]

Important note: I haven’t changed or edited any of the answers. I’ve only formatted the book titles so they were clearer, but nothing else. Because I’m incapable of shutting up, my comments are between brackets and in italics, so you can distinguish them clearly.

-------------------------------------------------------

[Image description: a square titled “Know the blogger”. Handle & pronouns: bluebellraven, she/her; country: Russia (currently living in the UK); three adjectives to describe her: curious, meticulous & funny /end]

1. What's a book you'd recommend to anyone visiting your country?

Russia is well-known for its classic literature, but in fact my very favourite Russian book - and the one I would recommend unfailingly - is a bit more modern than Tolstoy and co. It is Mikgail Bulgakov's Master and Margarita - such a deep exploration of my country's recent past, mixed with religious matters, but at the same time funny, quirky and irreverent. Although I would add that it has flavorful prose that isn't easily translated, so for anyone speaking the language absolutely worth reading in original, and probably requires some understanding of the Soviet history to not get confused by the narrative... I'll add another book (or rather trilogy) here that I love to the Moon and back for its interpretation of Russian culture, and that was written with a modern western reader in mind - Winternight Trilogy by Katherine Arden. This is a phantasmagorical retelling of historical events; all the kudos to the author for capturing the feel of our fairytales so perfectly.

[I’ve seen the Winternight Trilogy recommended enough times that I know at some point I’ll read it. I just can’t escape it. It’s my fate.]

2. Last book you've read that had such a beautiful prose it should be engraved somewhere?

I loved the language in Emily St John Mandel's Station Eleven. It just grabs you by the collar and drags you all the way through the book. Although being an account of a destructive pandemic, it might be a bit too relevant to read right now...

3. Do you do read-alongs?

I'm afraid not! Since I'm in academia, my workload can be sporadic, which makes planning for free time difficult; plus I tend to enjoy doing stuff at my own pace.

4. How do you decide which books go on your TBR? Are there any deciding factors?

I don't really have a streamlined process here. Often I see a recommendation online, or a plot outline that resonates with me, and check the book out on book-reviewing platforms (I don't really look at the rating, but rather at the downsides that people list most frequently and whether they are deal-breakers for me). One of the good sources of book recs for me is BookRiot - I love their bookish newsletters; some recs come from Tumblr or my friends, or drift in unexpectedly from the wider universe, triggered by non-book-related stuff.

5. Which is the fictional universe you'd NEVER want to live in?

This is probably an unpopular opinion, but I have never wanted to live in any fictional universe! As messed-up as it is, the real world is what we have, and although stories are absolutely fundamental to who we are as humans, I've always seen them as a sort of part of this reality. If I look at fictional universes in real-life detail, they tend to lose their appeal! Maybe one universe that does tempt me is the His Dark Materials worlds of Philip Pullman - how cool would it be to never be lonely?.. Pretty much all other fictional places are a Nope for me!

Free space!

I don't have much to say in the free space that readers don't already know... Fiction is such a unique thing, and I'm happy it exists in the world. Maybe just this: if you love to read but haven't tried writing your own stuff - give it a go! Making stories can be even more rewarding than reading them.

I feel very lucky to have a community of readers that is booklr - (see) (hear) read (?) you guys soon, and happy reading!

You can follow her at @bluebellraven.

--------------------------------------------

Thank you so much! This was lovely.

Nex interview: Saturday, 10th of April

[only-in-december]

For the 40 Questions — Meme for Fic Writers ask game,

7, 11, 29, and 37

Sorry that it's taken me so long to answer, I got a little distracted😅

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

"It felt like someone was looking through his brain in the most literal sense. Pulling out memories forcefully, flashing them in front of his eyes and then grabbing more. (The phrase 'pick your brain' suddenly seemed a lot darker.) He saw so many events from his life at once. But they were all out of order. His and Maddie's wedding. Sara dying. Vlad looking through his ghost binder for the first time. Pops glaring at him for speaking. Danny's first steps. Ma ignoring him because he wasn't Sara couldn't be Sara. Vlad smiling. Vlad's accident. Jazz dancing. Danny lying in front of the Interdimensional Wormhole possibly dead.

Jack would have screamed if he could. But whatever ghost or other entity was possessing him, was making sure that he was locked up tight. The ringing was so loud. The memories kept flashing in his mind. His and Maddie first date. Harriet's article. Jazz's first dance recital. Danny explaining the birth of a star. Falling out of a tree and breaking his arm in fifth grade.

Jack distantly felt his arm get burned. He almost wondered if it would hurt later. But the ghost didn't seem to be done invading his mind and memories. Ma and Pop looking disapprovingly as he sang Danny Boy for Sara at her funeral. Finding out that Vlad wouldn't let him visit the hospital. Getting a returned Christmas card from Vlad with his face scratched out and the words "I HATE YOU" angrily scrawled on it. Him Vlad and Maddie sitting and laughing and talking." -Five Times Vlad Defended Jack (And The One Time He Didn't) Chapter 6, 'A Bitter Reunion'

This section just turned out exactly how I wanted it to. I have other parts that I'm proud of, but right now, I think this is my favorite because it feels scared. (If that makes any sense😅) This entire chapter ended up how I wanted it to. But this section, where Vlad is possessing Jack and looking through his brain? It just turned out precisely how I envisioned it.

11. Is writing your passion or just a fun hobby?

A hobby. I like doing it, and don't plan on quitting any time soon. But it isn't my passion.

29. If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

This is the question I had the hardest time with. Because like, I'm sure that there are tons of fics that I'd love to write a sequel or prequel for. But, I couldn't think of any. At all. And it aggravated me to no end. So I'm leaving this one open ended with an, "I don't know. I'm sure there's at least one out there. But I'm sure I'm under qualified."

37. Talk about your current wips.

I'm gonna just do all the ones I can think of off the top of my head. I'll link all the ones that are on AO3 already.

"The Twin Trap" is an AU fic I'm working on with @deaths-true-mortal-enemy about the Maximoff twins. Kind of a parent trap au. I think it's a lot of fun.

I'm working on a sequel to "On Pride And Failure." About the moments after the fight, and how it all affected Jack. (There's also a lot of mentions of his sister, and her death. It's a little dark.)

"I'M GOIN'..." is a fic (that I need to finish) about Danny's accident. It starts a second AU about if Kwan was on Team Phantom. And I think it's pretty good so far.

"From The Ghost Zone Into Your Home" is about the ghosts, and how they choose who they become. (Because in my AU they're not dead.)

"Never Play Among Us With Two Lawyers, A Private Detective, And A Police Lieutenant (it won't end well for your receptionist)" is a goofy modern AU Perry Mason fic. Perry, Della, Paul, Hamilton, Tragg, and Gertie all play Among Us. (I started it back when the game was huge and haven't really touched it since.)

I hope that suffices! I could ramble about them, but this post is pretty long already.😅

[nagisasstunningpersonality]

TINSITOGS, a retrospective (happy birthday)

(yes I’m like two days too late I know I’m sorry) 

Why hello followers and ass class fandom, nice to see you there. I’m sure MOST people know about this, but in case you don’t, hi. On AO3 I’m better known as livixbobbiex, writer of maybe one of the most infamous Assassination Classroom fics. 

Which I mean like, if you haven’t read it yet you totally should it’s fanlore at this point I promise- 

Shameless plug that I don’t need aside, I felt that, on its first birthday since actual completion, I just wanted to share some things about it. Some tit bits about writing it, fun facts, maybe even some author advice TM. I appreciate that it’ll be super annoying if I do that in the tags, though, so that’ll all be under the cut. If you don’t want to read the whole post, then no matter what, thanks for the support in general! 

I also want to take the opportunity to announce that I’ve reopened my discord, so if you want to talk about my fics with me (and others), you’re more than welcome to join! (the link is here) 

The origin story 

I’ve stated this many times, I think, but TINSITOGS was never supposed to be a serious story. Taking you back, quite a long time, it actually started in a facebook DM with a friend. We used to come up with “head canons” with each other, which were basically just very condensed fanfiction plots over a multitude of text messages. I believe I was trying to cheer her up, and I tried to come up with some kind of plot line. 

At the time, I was fairly fresh to the Ass Class fandom, and I was joking about how there were no teen pregnancy melodrama fanfictions. It wasn’t that I wanted one, I just thought it was strange for a school centric anime with a bunch of ships to NOT have one. And, back then, I only really cared about karmagisa. So I just decided ‘right it’s happening’. The reason I decided to make it ABO was due to ‘it making sense’. Fun fact: it was almost written as AFAB trans Nagisa, but I decided against it as I didn’t rate my ability to handle it well back then. Looking back on it, I’m glad I made that decision. 

Over around two months, writing out the plot of this story took over my life a little bit. I had no idea where I was going with it, but I was having so much fun with the drama that I decided that Karma and Nagisa shouldn’t get together soon at all, and I had a lot of fun teasing my friend with the ‘will they won’t they’. It was only when I got bored that I invented this intense drama plotline to finish it all off. 

That period of time was a lot of fun. And whilst that friendship didn’t end well, I still have a lot to thank her for. She chose Daichi’s name because I had no idea, and she wanted to annoy me because I didn’t like Haikyuu. When I couldn’t decide on his hair colour, the purple was her suggestion because ‘why logic?’ Daichi speaking Korean was because of how much she liked Kpop. She even helped me choose the title of the actual fic, so there’s a lot you can thank her for, honestly. 

After I finished that story, though, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Whenever I daydreamed, I used to think about that damn Daichi Akabane, and how much I wanted to tell his story. I’d even come up with extra stuff to fill in a lot of the gaps, and developed his character in my mind. I decided that I was really desperate to write it down. Usually that worked when I had an idea I wanted to work through. 

I wrote the first chapter in late 2017, and then the next two as well. I just, kept going, and realised that I could go further still. TINSITOGS was never something that was supposed to be shared, but I decided I may as well. After all, that fated ‘teen pregnancy drama’ fic still didn’t exist, and I thought it would be funny to make it happen. 

Yes, as I’ve stated publicly a few times, TINSITOGS was a crack fic. If I wanted attention from it, it was infamy. We even joked about me cursing the fandom if it ever became the most popular fic (whoops?). What I wasn’t expecting was a bunch of people, in a fandom where at the time there were NO ongoing karmagisa fics and it was pretty dead, to really seem to enjoy it. It was enough to have me keep writing it, at least. I still don’t know at what point I actually started taking it seriously, but somehow I did, and the rest is history? 

The reception 

In my wildest dreams, I never thought that I would be the author of one of the most popular fics in the fandom. To this day, the amount of views TINSITOGS has is insanity to me. For the record, across all platforms it’s on today it has 238,000, which is literally a number I can’t even visualise anymore. Almost quarter of a MILLION. To this day on AO3, it’s the most viewed Ass Class fic that’s an ACTUAL ass class fic (the others are multi fandom compilations). So yeah, I achieved the original goal, I guess? 

Now you might be wondering, “omg the karmagisa fandom is fujoshi trash”. And, considering the origins, it is kind of funny. The thing is, though, TINSITOGS was written at incredibly good time. It was written when there were, essentially, very few long form Karma/Nagisa stories. If any other fics did get posted on occasion, they were usually just oneshots. I was also, at that point, writing very fast. A symptom of ADHD is becoming obsessively productive over certain things. Since I was able to get a 3k chapter out every few days/once a week, TINSITOGS was consistently bumped to the top of AO3′s default view. And some of those first few chapters were altered canon, and transcribing the canon dialogue didn’t take very long. The more views it got, the more people would read it out of sheer curiosity. 

I think it also helps that, at least after it started getting some positive feedback (which was honestly after the pre written chapters), I purposely tried to make it ‘not terrible’. I mean, I personally think the first chapter is pretty weak and if it wasn’t somewhat iconic to a lot of people I’d rewrite it. But in general, I purposely tried to make the world of ABO my own, to make it more accessible to those who don’t like that genre, and stay away from the inherently grosser stuff as much as possible. I genuinely do get comments about how I introduced people to the genre as a whole, still not sure if that’s a GOOD thing but hey, it happened. 

TINSITOGS turned into a lot more than just a joke. It turned into my favourite hobby. It turned into a research project (honestly, you would not believe the amount of mummy vlogs and legit scientific articles about child development I consumed). It turned into something that, at least I believe, was widely loved. 

Meaning 

I think it might be wrong to say that I don’t have AN idea of when I started to take the fic super seriously. For me, it was around the time someone commented something along the lines of saying my writing meant a lot to them, that they’d spent all night reading it and had been unable to put it down. 

Not to get too dark here, but I do have a past in writing a very long, somewhat popular fic (it’s still on my fanfic net profile if anyone’s interested, but I don’t recommend it). However, in the latter part of my teenage years, the depression struck. Writing was the love of my life, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it anymore. Maybe I’d be able to muster an idea or even a chapter at the best points of that, but I’d never completely finished any story. Starting to write again was a huge step in my recovery, and one of the reasons I convinced myself that life was worth it was being able to impact someone’s life somehow. Even to this day, I still remember the fics I read when I was, like, thirteen. How much I still remember them, and how much they meant to be at the time. I wanted to be that writer for someone else. To be honest, it was actually Yuri!!! On Ice that got me out of the super bad, but I still never wrote anything of real consequence. TINSITOGS was the first time in a long time I actually committed to something. 

And, to be completely honest, there were a lot of times I was tired of it, and wanted to just quit. But, the thing was, I felt like people depended on me in a way. I got so many comments that were just FILLED with support, telling me how much they looked forward to every update. It wasn’t just empty words, either, a lot of the times these comments would be super engaged with the actual writing. I can’t even describe just how much they meant to me, how much I would look forward to reading everyone’s opinions. And then discord happened, which was a lot of fun. 

TINSITOGS went a lot further than I ever thought it would. There were comments, discussions, fan art, fan FIC (which is honestly incredible to me). Someone even added it to TV Tropes, at one point. Not to mention the Cards Against Humanity deck and quiz It makes me so unbelievably happy that I could inspire that much creativity, but it’s a two way street. It was all of that which inspired me to write, too. 

Writing 

The only real goal I actually had was aiming for around 3000 words per chapter. I had a whole facebook log of plot points as planning, and I was mostly just trying to expand on them into prose. I honestly thought that, at its completion, the entire fic would be around 100k words, if that. Not, at one point, being literally the longest ass class fic on AO3. 

There are a lot of aspects that were directly adapted from the original messages, and I tried to stay faithful to it more so at first, even if I later removed some of the pure crack. But the style was also vaguely similar, with the story being told mostly from Nagisa’s perspective with swaps to Karma when it made sense. All the main plot beats, too, are pretty much identical. The plus to this was I was able to add a lot of really fun foreshadowing, and I feel like it’s a fun reread because of it. 

Honestly though, if there’s a demand to release those OG message logs, I will. Mostly because it’s kind of funny, and interesting to see. Isogai and Nagisa were engaged at one point, even. 

Obviously, it changed somewhat. 3000 was the minimum length, and the time to completion was whenever it felt right. One of my big concerns was about pacing, so it took a lot more fleshing out and maybe ‘filler’ content for some of the main arcs to work. 

There’s parts of TINSITOGS I don’t think aren’t written that well, and some that I’m still super proud of. I think you can definitely tell there’s a gradual shift in style, and I get a lot more comfortable with writing them as characters as it goes along. To be honest, my pride for the fic overall is what it represents. 

It is funny to think about the places it got written in, though. I started it when I worked at McDonalds with no life direction, then it went through my first year of university with me. It’s been written in at least four countries. Aeroplanes, night clubs, long haul buses, a train through the Japanese southern coastline. Even the start of covid. TINSITOGS managed to see a lot. I even turned a scene in (the boat scene during the India chapter with altered names) to my university as a legitimate assignment. 

There were also a few messages I wanted to achieve, once I realised I had the platform to put them across. One of them was, obviously, ‘use protection kids’. It was important to me that I didn’t glamorise it too much, and I think that came across. I also wanted to dispute some of the issues with ABO, and subvert the consent issues as much as I could. An arc I really ‘liked’ writing was how abuse doesn’t always look the same way, and that it can be a drawn out change in behaviour. How the most important part of ‘being a good parent’ isn’t perfection, but genuinely loving and doing the best you can for your kid. How love doesn’t solve everything, and effective communication can take a very long time to learn and build a functional relationship. I mean, there definitely was a lot I tried to put in, and you’re free to interpret it all how you want. But, I like to think some people learnt some of these things, at least. 

Daichi 

Honestly, Daichi developed almost of his own free will. I had a good idea of his appearance, and that he was smart. Writing him from birth until around nine years old (older if you read the sequel fic) pretty much allowed that fluidity. It was really fun to explore a nature vs nurture development, and let his own characteristics speak for themselves. 

He’ll always have a special place in my heart. 

This is the first image I ever made. When I was trying to figure out what Daichi looked like, I honestly just edited Karma’s hair (pretty well, actually? I’m impressed with my past skill). That’s where the ‘he looks just like Karma’ meme kind of came from. 

This was the first image I actually created of Daichi. I THINK it was on rinmaru games mega anime creator or something, but it’s literally not available on the internet anymore as far as I can tell, so I can’t double check. This was in the pre-piccrew days. His eyes are closed because they didn’t have the right tone of goldish/silver.  

His sister, Kaguya, didn’t even exist originally, even though I decided on that ending pretty early on. Actually, she was going to be called ‘Irina’ due to some hijinks. Initially, when Karma found out about Irina’s pregnancy, she was going to get super emotional and mad at him and basically force him to name his first born daughter after her. Karma agreed to shut her up, never intending to have another child, so when the surprise second child later came along they had to live with the pain. However, to be honest I just forgot to write in the actual scene that set it all up, and I decided against adding it anywhere else. The name Kaguya was a very last minute decision, and it was a chance for me to explore some ideas that didn’t fit with Daichi’s character. 

Interestingly too, Daichi and Nao were never intended to be a thing. I only decided that towards the VERY end. Even though the reason I named Nao that was because of a ship I had in a J Drama (Good Morning Call). It just kind of ended up happening because I won myself over with imagining the cute. 

The music 

I used to write with a lot of background music, though not all the time. Particularly towards the start, there was a lot that didn’t really make sense thematically, yet I would write to a lot. 

Here’s a link to the spotify playlist if you want it it’s basically all the ones I noted I’d listened to a lot. Not including the smut ones, though, I have a whole playlist for that. 

Some of the notable ones: 

Five String Serenade - the first scene I wrote of the entire fic, in Chapter 25 New Year Time where they fell asleep cuddling. 

Cosmic Love - when I wrote Nagisa’s love confession scene in hospital (I also wrote this pretty early on) 

Northern Downpour (though it was actually a cover by Emma Blackery) - The chapter after Daichi’s born (30) 

When The Party’s Over -  Confession Time Third Period, Chapter 69. I literally listened to this song on REPEAT when I planned and wrote the kind of ‘break up’ scene, and it’s one of the few parts that made me cry writing. 

Turning Page - I know I said no smut, but this song actually gave me the idea to have the “I love you” in chapter 108 be less on a whim and actually more built up. In the original plan, Karma really did just say it without thinking. I’m glad I changed that.  

Bury Me Low and Numb - pretty much all I listened to when writing the last few chapters, because Evil Nagisa core. So much so that Bury Me Low was in my top 2020 songs rewind. 

As for the title, there’s actually quite a funny story. I had no idea what to call the fic, and when that happens I usually just try and find some song lyrics. I really wanted to use something from ‘October’ by the Broken Bells. Not only because it’s my favourite song (has been for years), but thematically it really worked. The issue was, it worked as the WHOLE song, there were no individual lyrics that captured everything. And, if they did, they didn’t flow very well. And naming the fic ‘October’ would have been weird for a lot of reasons. There Is No Sweeter Innocence That Our Gentle Sin really was just plucked randomly, in a desperate search to find any snappy lyrics from any song that had some kind of meaning. After a bit of discussion, we settled that it kind of worked... if Daichi is innocent and they committed a sin or something. It also wasn’t the most obvious lyric from the song (Take Me To Church if anyone doesn’t know) so I just went with it. It works out, I think, because TINSITOGS turned out to be a pretty good acronym and pronounceable word in its own right. 

The merch  redbubble drama 

It’s a well known fact that I’m not very good at art. However, I decided to try pixel art because it seemed the easiest to not mess up. I made Karma and Nagisa, before deciding to also give Daichi a try. 

This, to this day, is the only good quality art of Daichi that I actually own. The only one I’m actually happy sharing and thinking it doesn’t look terrible. As much as I love people sending me fanart, it’s not ‘my property’, right. 

So, I was kind of joking about TINSITOGS having merchandise. At first I just made two funny quote things, and uploaded it to redbubble. I was never intending to actually make money from this, and I’d agreed to myself that if I did, I would just donate it to charity. I was joking with the quotes, but since I had this artwork I figured I may as well uploaded. Separately, there was also an image that had pixel Daichi next to pixel Nagisa and Karma (which I also created). 

Aside from showing up in a few people’s adverts across the internet, there was no real harm with this. In fact, I didn’t make money anyway. It was just... more the joke of it existing. I did, however, buy myself a Daichi phone case, which is one of my favourite possessions. 

The funny ‘drama’ comes in when they got taken down due to copywrite. Sure, the one with Nagisa and Karma, I understand. But the other three literally had no mention or anything to do with Assassination Classroom, aside from being from a fanfiction. So basically, someone who owns those rights claimed my OC as theirs. Which makes Daichi canon? Whatever the case, I found this hilarious don’t worry. 

How has TINSITOGS changed my life? 

This is quite a strange thing to think about. Because, in a lot of ways, it really hasn’t. As I’m sure a lot of people know, I don’t really consider myself to have any real ‘fame’, despite the impressive numbers. Whenever I tell people in my personal life, they seem to think I’m some sort of internet celebrity, but that’s never been the case for me. I mean, it’s hardly a cultural phenomenon. 

In a lot of ways, I’d much rather befriend someone than have them admire me. Possibly because being someone’s inspiration is kind of weird... I’m just an awkward duck who likes to write after all. I don’t mind it, though. I genuinely find it an honour, even if I don’t necessarily agree. I also want to take this time to say that if anyone ever wants to talk or message me, you’re more than free to do so. I’m usually super casual with people who do that, I promise. 

TINSITOGS was the first story I ever finished in the way I truly wanted to. Start to end, a full narrative. And it took a LOT. There were so many times I almost felt like quitting, or took super long breaks. For me, ADHD queen, actually finishing something was a huge deal. And I know I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t owe it to everyone who read it, and myself, to see it through. You know like, if I were to die tomorrow, at least I’ve left something behind. 

In a lot of ways, it’s changed me for the better. It’s helped me develop my writing styles, and way of thinking. It encouraged me to become more active in the fandom, and develop some important friendships. I always feel like my Tumblr and Fanfiction ‘known’ factor is separate. I think most of my Tumblr following is more to do with my theories/Japanese context research if anything, for example, but I know I wouldn’t be so interested in that if TINSITOGS hadn’t lead me to deeply examine character and really look into analysing source material for clues. I also think there’s just... a lot of myself in it. 

I was 17 years old, when I first came up with the idea. I finished the story when I was 20. Now, at the time of writing, I’m 21. That time has seen some pretty significant changes - just in general life facts and my own personal human development. For me at least, a lot of that was pretty turbulent, and TINSITOGS stands as a time capsule for that, in a way. 

I know I gained a lot of confidence, and it affirmed to me that writing is what I love. Telling stories and sharing them is what I love. 

Conclusion

Do I think TINSITOGS is an outstanding piece of writing, or the best fic ever? No. I really don’t. It’s strange to say because I definitely spent a lot of time on it, but it’s not like I put my full unbridled efforts into the story. I don’t fully plan, use a beta, or even read through on my own. And that’s okay - that’s not what I write fanfiction for. Fanfiction is my place to have fun with characters and stories I like, without the pressures of having to stand on my own complete originality. Yes, I’m fully confident that I can write at a “higher quality”, if I really wanted to. I’m also aware that some authors put their full effort into their fics, and that’s just as valid! 

It feels odd to say this about my own writing, but I honestly think there’s just something in this story. It might not be written in the best prose ever, and the premise might be kind of dumb for a lot of people. But, I think, there’s some part of this fic that managed to grab people. Somehow, at some point, many readers get captured into the emotions and so drawn in that ‘they just have to finish it now!’ Again, I’m not sure myself how I actually achieved that. Of course, that won’t apply to everyone, but I do feel there’s some truth in it. And it makes me happy, to have caused that. 

If TINSITOGS is your favourite fic, or if you genuinely think it’s the best story you’ve read, then thank you. I really appreciate your support, and I’m happy to have been a part of your life, I guess. I know how much fanfics can mean to a person, and that’s why I’m not going to take it down, or edit it at all. And it’s fine too, if you loved the fic for a while and moved on -i t happens. Whatever the case, I’m very honoured to have been able to occupy a moment of your life. Or if you find this fic in 10 years time, even, I still wholly appreciate you. 

This story was incredibly important to me, and thank you for reading if it was ever important to you too. 

You may ask, what now? Well, this is only intended to be a detailed look back for whoever’s interested, and it’s likely the only one I’ll actually do, a year after completion. Of course, if you ever want to ask me anything or just discuss the story, you’re honestly good to contact me in whatever way I have available. 

I’m still writing my ongoing stories, of course, despite taking a small break due to the university work load. I fully intend to complete the stories I’ve already started to tell, at least. After that... I’m not sure if I’ll still write fanfiction. Don’t panic, this isn’t a ‘I’m quitting writing’ thing. I may, however, have bled the Karmagisa genre a bit too dry at that point. Who knows? I am pretty interested in writing something original for once, so maybe that’ll work out. 

For now, at least, thank you to anyone who read this fic. To anyone who commented, liked, or interacted with me over it. To anyone who created or learnt from it. I’m really glad that I got to share this story with you all, and ultimately left some kind of mark, no matter how big or small. 

Happy birthday, TINSITOGS. I had a lot of fun writing you. 

[avasghost]

Crane Anatomy Update #2

(slightly outdated WIP intro here)

DISCLAIMER: this is my original work. please do not plagiarize in any way.

Hello!! I’m finally back with the second crane anatomy update!

first of all, this is probably going to be a very long post, so brace yourself for a lot of mindless rambling.

LOTS of things have changed since the last update, and its going much better now thankfully! what has happened:

i restarted the book

i changed the form

i got very burnt out

i stopped being burnt out (mostly) after making a verb list (fun verbs always help)

i figured out some stuff about my writing process

so there’s a lot to cover.

first!! I restarted the book!! This is obviously the biggest change that took place. I made a post about it here, when i wasn’t sure if i was going to restart yet, and then decided to go for it and now i’m about 4000 words into the new version. It’s going a lot better in most ways, the prose is better (somewhat), and so far nothing boring or unnecessary has happened so that’s nice! but also some things are worse: this version is burning me out a lot more, probably because i’m trying harder to make it good. there was a long period when i was hardly writing it at all, but i’m getting into it a bit more now so that’s good.

secondly, with the restart, i made a few form changes that i love and really benefit the story. first of all, it’s not in vignettes anymore (sigh of relief) because i realized that wasn’t working and the book didn’t need it. vignettes are kinda light and jumpy and fast paced, and at first i thought that was perfect for this book because of its lightness, but as i figured out more things about the characters and plot, i realized that even though the settings and aesthetic are quite sunny and bright, it’s actually a very inherently heavy story and the longer chapters will help that quite a lot with the lightness and yet also heaviness if that makes sense?? and also, the exciting part: every second chapter is a vignette flashback to Isobel’s old life.

for context, at the beginning of the first chapter, they arrive at their new house, and it’s them entering a new life, which is much darker than their old life. but the vignette chapters are flashbacks to their childhood growing up in their old house. the prose in these vignettes is very hazy and bright and dreamy and saturated, because Isobel’s memories of her childhood portray it as brighter and better than it probably really was.

and finally, in all these major changes, i figured out something about my writing process: i’m a pantser, but i like to have the first few chapters outlined, as sort of a springboard into the rest of the book, something solid to base everything else off of. i guess that technically makes me a plantser, even though everything else is pantsed.

now, onto the chapters and excerpts! i’m finished the first chapter and the first vignette, and currently working on chapter 2.

you may notice that some scenes are very similar to the first attempt, because i did keep a lot of scenes and also a lot of the same prose.

excerpts under the cut.

chapter 1: this new life

it felt soooooo good to write a full length chapter again. after trying to write vignettes for a while, writing a full length chapter was so much more enjoyable. i used to be a very serious underwriter, but (luckily) have mostly gotten over that and can write actual full chapters now, and have a hard time writing short ones!

i named the chapter “this new life” because my plan is to mirror it later in the book, when there’s a vignette flashback to right before they left their old house and its called “this old life” (if i decide to title the vignettes). i love mirroring chapter titles and lines and stuff so i’m excited for this.

ALSO i said in the first writing update (which i won’t link because it’s embarrassing) that there’s a redwood tree in the backyard, but i changed it to an oak tree lol because i realized it would be v weird for someone to have a random redwood tree growing in their backyard.

excerpts

first of all, the new first line:

(idk if this is actually an oak tree but i don’t care about tree accuracy as long as there’s aesthetic accuracy ✨)

The first time Isobel steps onto the lawn outside the new house is the first time she feels her life change in person. It’s instantaneous, like a death or a rebirth. Clouds thread across a sun-smothered sky like gossamer strands, swallows trill out of the limbs of oak trees that arrow down the sidewalk. The car only halfway to a stop, and Isobel has already clambered out. A squirrel bullets along an oak branch. A wind chime tremolos in the breeze. It’s the first day of summer. Life has never felt so dead.

a bit about them unpacking and living sad times (also i changed their mom’s name from beth to pamela because beth was too stereotypical)

Nobody speaks except to toss instructions back and forth, or ask for something to be passed to them as they unpack the few things they need to last the night. Their mother, Pamela, is quick-tempered. It’s clear she never wanted to come here, even though she always smiled when they talked about it, encouraged everybody, told them it was for the best, which it was. It was for the best, but that didn’t make it a good thing. That didn’t brighten the prospect, make it feel better. That just made it less avoidable.

Cyrus, their father, keeps up his usual attitude of encouragement, just like Pamela, pointing out every good thing: the sunlight that spangles everything in citrine, the pizza he’s about to order, the bluebird that spits music in the open window, though he says all these things half-heartedly. His faltering smiles give him away. The strands of grey hair pasted to his forehead. The woolly cable-knit sweater he only wears when he’s unhappy and has been wearing almost every day for the last two months.

and of course, margaret is having the time of her life because she’s margaret:

Margaret is the only one who shows no sign of remorse. She unpacks quickly, then spends the rest of the day ruffling through boxes and coolers for crinkly chip bags and frozen strawberries that melt on your tongue and dribble down your throat. A pocket mirror spined with cracks sits beside her on the table, in case she needs to tweak her reflection. Gold chain jewelry chimes around her throat when she moves, glints in the sunlight that pools around her.

after they eat dinner and isobel leaves (yes i’ve shared most of this excerpt before but it’s one of my favorite parts so here it is again!)

After dinner, Isobel’s throat is still throbbing and she decides to leave the house, leave her family, so if she cries no one has to see her. She doesn’t know where she’ll go, where there is to go, but at seven o’clock she lies about where she’s going, shoves out of her chair and clatters out the door without saying goodbye.

From the doorstep, this new life is just a neighborhood. A car parked in half the driveways, the others at work or school or nowhere. Hedges only trimmed on one side. Flower beds, half withering and half thriving. Marigolds are the most radiant as Isobel stalks down the road. Their fluorescent buds like blood-rimmed suns.

She walks down the middle of the road because the town is quiet at this time, no cars whisk on the pavement, swish corners because they don’t think anyone will be walking there. It’s a risk she finds thrilling because she knows Pamela would make her stop if she was here.

Isobel told them she would go explore the neighborhood, the town, maybe the empty spaces outside it. Wave hello to the skinny chiffon woman bent double over the trunk of her red Chevrolet, the man in the houndstooth jacket in his gaping garage, smoke snaking up the throat of his cigarette. Smile when they wave back.

and of course she runs into a forest because everything i write features too many forest scenes!

She runs until her breath clumps in her chest and she stops, one hand splayed over the itchy bark of an elm tree to keep her balance. It’s dark here, but she’s not afraid of the dark. It’s lonely here, but she’s immune to loneliness. Trees spoke the thin canopy, a veil of gauzy leaves. The sky is clotted with sagging clouds.

this chapter is also where we meet felix, who i love so much. i want to make a character intro for him and also his brother, miles, soon, but i’ve been planning to do that for weeks and haven’t yet so i don’t know when/if i will.

felix shows up in the forest and he and isobel talk a bit: felix is very nice and isobel is my lil psychopath wannabe <3. isobel ends up leaving abruptly because it’s about to rain, and then she gets home and talks with piper a bit and then goes to bed. i don’t like ending chapters with characters going to bed, because i do it so much! a character going to bed has a sense of closure since its the end of the day, and obviously there’s nothing wrong with ending a chapter like this, but i do it do often that it’s starting to irritate me.

first vignette

i still haven’t decided how i’m going to title the vignettes. they’re not chapters, so this isn’t going to be called ‘chapter 2′, but they’re still sort of chapters?? right now i just have them titled as roman numerals, but i’m not happy with this and am going to change it as soon as i think of something better.

this vignette is a short flashback to that morning, right before they leave to go to their new house. it features isobel and piper going into the forest and then they leave and its v sad.

this is the first flashback in the book, and then in future flashbacks it jumps back a few years and follows their childhood right up to this flashback again. the last flashback is going to end with the same line as the first line of the actual book, so it comes full circle.

excerpts

There were different types of trees. It was a different town, in a different province. Isobel and Piper had evaded Pamela’s searching fingers, hopped the fence, blotted under the trees like redwing blackbirds.

Piper slowed first, sunlight quivering over her sawn black curls, pinching out a cramp after outrunning Isobel the whole time.

same excerpt as in the first update but with an extra sentence at the end and the beginning! why share new prose when you can just recycle old excerpts galaxy brain

here’s when pamela calls them out of the forest and they leave:

Pamela’s raspy shouts wound Piper and Isobel out of reverie. They trundled to their feet, flitted through the trees back to the house. Then they left.

Isobel stared at the house through the rear window as the car clicked into motion, wheels whirring on the pavement. She watched it shrink: first it was her home, then just a house, then a dollhouse, a triangle of roof on the horizon, and then nothing. From that point on, it was just an image in her head, a lingering wish. A life lost. A life she would never get back again.

this is v sad i’m sorry characters but i had to cause you this misery for the sake of the plot (also you probably deserve it)

anyway that’s all i have for this update! bye!

- Ava

Crane Anatomy taglist (ask to be added/removed!):

@gracestowewriting​​ @flip-phones @shaelinwrites​​​

[mediaevalmusereads]

A Duke, the Lady, and a Baby. By Vanessa Riley. New York: Zebra, 2020.

Rating: 2/5 stars

Genre: historical romance

Part of a Series? Yes, Rogues and Remarkable Women #1

Summary:   When headstrong West Indian heiress Patience Jordan questioned her English husband's mysterious suicide, she lost everything: her newborn son, Lionel, her fortune—and her freedom. Falsely imprisoned, she risks her life to be near her child—until The Widow's Grace gets her hired as her own son’s nanny. But working for his unsuspecting new guardian, Busick Strathmore, Duke of Repington, has perils of its own. Especially when Patience discovers his military strictness belies an ex-rake of unswerving honor—and unexpected passion . . . A wounded military hero, Busick is determined to resolve his dead cousin’s dangerous financial dealings for Lionel’s sake. But his investigation is a minor skirmish compared to dealing with the forthright, courageous, and alluring Patience. Somehow, she's breaking his rules, and sweeping past his defenses. Soon, between formidable enemies and obstacles, they form a fragile trust—but will it be enough to save the future they long to dare together?

***Full review under the cut.***

Content Warnings: racism, blood, violence, allusions to suicide, imprisonment, and non-voluntary institutionalization

Overview: I first learned of Vanessa Riley while reading an article about women of color and historical romance, so when I finished a rather confusing (and depressing?) read, I decided to see which of Riley’s books my library had on offer. This novel originally caught my eye because of the marketing: a multi-cultural regency romance? Seems like just the thing I’m looking for! Unfortunately, the writing style just didn’t gel with me, so for that reason, I can’t give this book more than 2 stars.

Writing: While I can respect the easy-to-digest prose style of most romances, Riley’s style didn’t work for me for a number of reasons. First, I found the use of the first person jarring. If you know me, then you’ll know that first person narration feels unnatural to me (unless the book is self-conscious about the way perspective is being used). But I also found the first person strange because Riley’s book alternates between Patience’s POV (which is in first person) and Busick’s POV (which is in third person). While the shift in POV was a nice delineation between the two characters’ perspectives, I ultimately had some trouble losing myself in the story because there was such a marked shift. I found myself preferring Busick’s chapters over Patience’s because I found it easier to let the prose just kind of wash over me.

Riley’s prose style is also a bit too reliant on dialogue and rhetorical questions for my taste. A large portion of this book involves characters talking to one another, which would be fine except I felt like Riley used dialogue in order to tell readers things rather than show them. The dialogue would repeat certain ideas or events over and over again, and the flow of the conversations didn’t feel natural, as topics would change abruptly or characters would speak in ways that didn’t feel genuine. I did like moments when Patience and Busick would have a little tit-for-tat; Riley is strongest when writing Patience's witty comebacks to Busick’s insistence on military order.

But because there was so much dialogue, there wasn’t much room for anything else, and I felt like Riley wasn’t quite sure of how to create suspense without dialogue. As a result, there are a lot of rhetorical questions; “Was she a spy?” “Did he have some secret in his past?” and the like. I feel like these types of questions popped up every other page, and part of the reason they were relied on so much may have been because Riley had a tendency to tell rather than show. Riley would point blank tell us what her characters were thinking or feeling, as well as what actions they were taking, and as a result, the narrative (and characters) felt flat.

Structurally, I also think the book could have used some tweaking. Early on, I felt like Riley was using a lot of expositional dialogue to dump a lot of info on the reader, and Patience’s internal monologue would make allusions to characters or events in ways that felt awkward and/or not relevant in the moment. I even had some trouble determining what exactly was going on at first because the book starts out with an exciting scene, and the circumstances that created that scene were unclear (unless you read the book summary first). To help with this, it would have been beneficial to get some kind of prologue, and if Riley didn’t want a prologue that depicts Patience being separated from her son or being victimized by the antagonist, then maybe we can see her escaping Bedlam or joining the Widow’s Grace - anything to give the book the space to establish a setting.

Plot: This book primarily follows our heroine, Patience Jordan, as she tries to regain custody of her son, Lionel. Following her husband, Colin’s, suicide, his uncle Markham seized control of their estate at Hamlin and claimed guardianship over Lionel. The reason? To gain access to Patience’s father’s money. To cover up the truth, Markham had Patience committed to Bedlam, so now, Patience must find evidence that Markham fabricated this insidious plot - evidence that she thinks is contained in some legal documents hidden within the family home.

However, Lionel’s legal guardian is not Markham, but Busick Strathmore, Colin’s cousin. Wanting to do right by his family, Busick seizes control of Hamlin and establishes himself as Lionel’s adoptive father. Not sure if Busick can be trusted, Patience gets herself hired as a wet nurse for Lionel, and uses her knowledge of the house to look for the legal documents that will prove Markham’s guilt, thus preventing her from being separated from Lionel again.

On paper, this plot looked really intriguing, but in practice, not a whole lot happened. Most of our time is spent reading the dialogue between Patience and various other characters, and we don’t actually get to see much of her snooping around, risking getting caught, and so on. Events didn’t seem to build on one another, so I mostly felt like I was getting character snapshots rather than an actual narrative.

There’s also something of a side plot where a mysterious “ghost” causes some minor trouble around the house. Personally, I think this plot could have been more centralized; if Riley had gone full Gothic romance (I’m thinking Jane Eyre because Jane gets hired to care for a child and Thornfield is spooky), I think this book would have been a delight. But the existing tone is a little too light, so it didn’t quite achieve the desired effect.

I also think that the whole Widow’s Grace stuff removed a lot of agency from Patience. While I liked that Patience had friends - especially friends in high places that could wield social influence to help her - having an organized, underground band of women was a little much for me. I would have preferred to see Patience concoct plans and discover information on her own, rather than having the Widow’s Grace act as the architect.

Characters: Patience, our heroine, is fairly likeable in that she’s brave, determined, and fiercely loyal to the people she cares about. I really enjoyed following her as she tried to search for her legal papers, outsmart Busick, and bring her companions along for the ride. I also liked that she had a lot of complex emotions surrounding her husband’s death; while the marriage wasn’t happy (and she has a lot of feelings about being treated as an Other), she also feels guilty about potentially contributing to her husband’s depression and wonders what she is going to tell her son about his father. I liked seeing her try to work through all these emotions, all while remaining focused on her goals.

Busick, our hero, is also fairly complex, but my appreciation for his complexity is dampened by some of the cheesiness that surrounds his military outlook on life. Busick is a former soldier who is working through his feelings about being injured in battle. Two years before the story begins, Busick loses his leg and must either use a prosthetic or a wheelchair, and he has a lot of issues with the perceptions surrounding his disability. As a result, he tries to hide the fact that he’s missing a leg; he never uses his wheelchair (except when alone) and plays it off like his leg just isn’t healing right. This kind of internalized ableism could have been really interesting to read about, especially since there was an opportunity for Busick to learn more about his value as something other than a soldier. However, Busick’s desperate desire to be useful to the war effort came off as fairly ridiculous; not only does he bring soldiers into his home and conduct drills in his yard (wouldn’t that be done at a camp or base?) but he tries to put Lionel on a strict military-style schedule and requires people to witness him as he rides a horse around the lawn (to prove his strength?). His past as a notorious rake isn’t really utilized effectively either; while we get allusions to his amorous activities, I didn’t really see how it was relevant. Did the military give him more discipline and now he’s reformed? Does he find himself slipping back into his old ways now that he can no longer fight on the battlefield? How does this situation with Patience and Lionel challenge all that? I think I would have liked to see Busick grow a little more, maybe by having him use his guardianship of Hamlin and Lionel as a way to “prove” that he’s changed from rake to responsible, disciplined adult (and his disability threatens that by making him seem incapable, so he has to deal with that as well). And while there were some hints at those kinds of things, they really weren’t central to his story.

Side characters were fairly enjoyable in that they had sweet relationships with the heroine or hero. I particularly enjoyed the relationship Patience had with Jemina - her fellow inmate at Bedlam who suffers from amnesia. I appreciated that Riley didn’t make Jemina seem “crazy,” but instead, she was a capable woman who demonstrates genuine affection and concern for her friend. I also liked that Busick had a similar support in Gantry, a viscount who is helping Busick with Hamlin (and with self-acceptance?) while also struggling with his own family issues. Lady Shrewsbury, the head of the Widow’s Grace, was interesting for the role she played in using her social power to get Patience into Hamlin, but otherwise, I didn’t really like the idea of the Widow’s Grace (because it removes some agency that could have been given to Patience instead).

Markham, our antagonist, is barely present, so I don’t really have many thoughts on him. While his actions were sneaky and abhorrent, and I appreciated that Riley didn’t use him to showcase a bunch of on-page misery, I also thought he was underutilized.

Romance: I hate to say it, but I think Patience and Busick lacked chemistry. I couldn’t quite see how each character enriched each other’s emotional lives; Patience seemed to like Busick because he was fatherly towards Lionel and because he was kind, while Busick seemed to like Patience because she was pretty and defiant. I wish Riley had done a little more to make them feel made for one another; maybe Patience challenges Busick’s rigid outlook on life and shows him that he has value beyond just being a soldier. Maybe Busick shows Patience that she matters as a person - something that was lacking in her marriage to Colin - or that she doesn’t have to take on all her burdens herself. There were hints of some of these things, but because of the writing style, I thought we were told rather than shown that the two characters had feelings for one another.

I also think the romance lacked heat and longing. While not every romance has to be sexy and steamy, I do think that there should be some element of longing that plays out in how the characters interact physically. One place where Riley actually does this pretty well is when Patience discusses how well she works with Busick while taking care of Lionel at night - the two hand him over to one another and move around the room as if doing a “dance,” and they brush against one another and smell each other’s scent. But other than that, it felt like I was smacked in the face with statements like “I noticed his mouth and wondered what it would be like to kiss it” or “Didn’t you notice? He follows you with his eyes!” I personally like these physical moments to be a little more subtle and for them to build on one another without the author having to spell out what they mean for me.

TL;DR: A Duke, the Lady, and a Baby has an intriguing premise and good characters, but ultimately lacks a strong plot, gripping prose style, or steamy romantic chemistry. Most of what holds this book back is the overuse of dialogue and rhetorical questions to create suspense, as well as the tendency to tell not show. While I would love to rate this book higher, the prose just isn’t there.

[random-mha-thoughts]

Creep part 2 (Bakugou x Reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x fem!Reader

Genre: Spice!

Sequel to Creep (part 1)

Summary: Your roommate forces you to a dorm hangout with her boyfriend where you get hit on by a creep, only to have Bakugou come along and help you with the situation.

Word count: 2,835

Tags:  @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog

a/n: More spice than the first part ;)  This one took a different turn from the first part, so I hope you all like it!  The ending might be a little rushed because I’m really exhausted and I wanted to finish this before I pass out on my keyboard.

This part was inspired by a Tiktok that was going to be a completely different scenario, but it ended up fitting perfectly as a sequel, so I used it!

Also I hit 100 followers!?  In 2 weeks?!  What are y’all following me for, I’m trash!?  Nonetheless thank you for supporting my tiny blog out of the vast world of Tumblr, I really appreciate it.  100 followers may not seem like a lot for some of you, but I never expected this to happen and I’m so grateful for each of you 😘😘  Ok enough of the mushy stuff, onward to the sequel!

Maybe I was hit by cupid's arrow.  Or the devil's, considering the type of thoughts I'm having.

I'm not usually the kind of person who lusts over people or their appearances.  I'll at least acknowledge them as hot and then move on, but I don't dwell on them.  Until I went back to our shared dorm still wearing Bakugou's hoodie and started having flashbacks of our few moments together.  His scent coupled with the memory of his smirk and those intense crimson eyes left me with a lingering high.  We had left things unfinished, and that little nagging in the back of my head drove me to do something I wouldn't normally do.

And that was stalking him.  I ended up scrolling through Ochaco's following list for his profile, and finding it was akin to discovering a hidden treasure.  From the outline of his build in that long-sleeve shirt I last saw him in, I knew there was something there.  While his profile displayed mostly pictures of his friends hanging out, there were also clips of him training in the gym.  Only when I chose those to watch those and scrolled to the end of the set would I be gifted with a beautiful mirror selfie of him in a black tank top.  Even just standing there, hands in his pockets or arms crossed across his chest, the curve of his arms and veins straining underneath entice me.

But that wasn't what stands out to me the most.  It's actually his neck.  In the small amount of time I'd spoken to him, the moment that he removed his hood and exposed it to me is the image that replays the most.  The structure of his muscles and his collarbone melding together into a perfect sculpture of a man.  That's what mostly haunted me.  To think it's one of the more sensitive parts of him makes my heart pound a little harder.  In every picture, it was the first thing I looked for.

"You planning on taking that off anytime soon?"

I jolted when Ochaco's sly comment awoke me from my reverie.  "Yeah, I just needed to check something first," I tried to play it off before - reluctantly - ripping the hoodie off of me.

And now, the day after that, I have to give it back to him.  This morning, a rogue though flashed into my mind: instead of simply handing it to him, I could wear it to class and have him watch me peel it off my body.  Such a thought never occurred to me before, startling me for being brash.

I did wear it though. I told myself it was cold in the classroom and I would need it.

When I walked into the classroom, I didn't dare to glance at the back for him since my thoughts haven't been the purest and I think I might've choked if I didn't mentally prepare myself.  If he was nice enough, he would have respected that sign, but he wasn't.

As soon as I turned around from getting a pen from my bag, there he was leaning on my desk, earning an embarrassing squeal from me.

His head tilts against his arm.  "That's a lovely shade on you."

My breath stops for a millisecond.  Huh?

Bakugou twirls one of the strings on the hoodie around his finger.  "The black matches your nails."

Oh.  Duh.  "Yeah?  I might keep it then."  Just to make my point, I pull the hood up on my head.  "You're probably not getting this back."

"Hording my clothes now?"  He clicks his tongue, "Sounds like you're the creep now.  Or just a thief."

Haaa, you don't know the half of it.  From the position he's in, leaning down on the desk and resting his head on his arm, there's a very perfect view of his neck and collarbone right in front of my eyes from under his black shirt and denim jacket.  I try not to linger on it and force myself to concentrate on his face instead.  "I'll give it back after class, this room is always too cold for me."  But today it feels just a bit hotter.

We agree to get lunch and head to the library after class until the professor arrives and he returns to his seat, but not before sending a wink my way.  I clutch the neck of the hoodie, stunned as the gesture spirals be back to us almost kissing, before the fire alarm rudely interrupted everything.  For the rest of class, I'm more concerned with how to take off an oversized hoodie in a sexy way than any kind of modern British prose.

.

We decide on staying on one of the library floors where a moderate level of talking is allowed, taking over a small, private study room where the door is transparent and there's a rectangular glass window to see inside.  I'm partially thankful for the extra insurance keeping me from possibly jumping on him, but that doesn't keep me from staring and letting my mind run wild.

Bakugou chose the seat at the head of the table and I chose the seat adjacent to him.  "I can't get over how the old hag typed out an entire 7 page guideline on how to write this paper.  Does she expect us to write a dissertation or something?!"

I slurp my udon.  "She needs to chill.  I thought her sarcastic humor was funny the first week of class, but she's getting on my nerves now."

"Then why do you keep laughing at all her jokes?"

"Because I need to kiss up to her so she can at least remember me to give me a good grade for one."  I put a piece of chicken in my mouth.  "And also, I'm low key scared of her killing my first born child."

Bakugou almost chokes on his Mapo Tofu laughing at that, throwing his head back and slamming the table.  The image of me kissing his neck flashes through me and cuts my laugh short.  Calm yourself!  I clear my throat.  "Speaking of scary people, if I had met you at the party, I would've had a very different impression of you, since you were much more...aggressive there."

He has a confused expression before he looks down at his food.  "You mean how I was screaming playing that game?"

"Yeah."  I note how uncomfortable he looks on the subject.  "I guess people usually think that of you?"

"Something like that.  I was kind of a loudmouth in high school, I think I've gotten better."  He turns to me, twirling his chopsticks in his hand curiously.  "What was your first impression of me?"

I shrug.  "You're quiet, you have a brain in your head, and you like to sleep in class sometimes."

The blond snorts, "People don't usually associate me with 'quiet,' you'd be the first."

Should I be flattered by that? I wonder.

We finish our meals without another word.  I pull out my laptop and start looking through the guidelines for our paper again.  "I don't even know what book I want to write about, they're all so boring."

Bakugou shrugs, still peering into his laptop screen.  "I would just pick the one with a theme you can bullshit the most about."

"I guess," I slump down onto my arm.  I always liked reading growing up so I didn't think I would have a tough time in this class, but the professor really drains the energy out of me.

I feel a bit hot in his hoodie, perking up at the opportunity to pique his interest.  Maybe I can lift it up so my shirt underneath slides up and shows my stomach a little?  Would that be sexy?  How do I remove it casually enough in one swift movement without fucking it up?  Maybe he'll find any way I do it attractive, because hopefully that's how guys think.

I decide to just try it an see how it goes.  Lifting it with both hands from the bottom, I drag the hoodie up and almost get it over my head, feeling my shirt underneath lifting below it.  I try straightening my back to make my posture look a little more curvy than I probably already am.  The problem I face is getting it off my head, which immediately dampers my effortlessly-sexy act into an awkward one.  I have to slip my arms out from the sleeves and push it up from underneath, messing my hair up slightly in the process.

I sneak a glance out of the corner of my eye to gauge his reaction in case he saw it.  There is none, his eyes are still glued to the screen.

Well, that was kind of a fail, I think, throwing the hoodie onto the space between us.  I'm just a bit disappointed that I can't channel my inner flirt around boys I like, but it's not the end of the world.

"Too bad, I thought you look pretty good in my hoodie," he spares me a smug grin.

I freeze up at the statement, heat rushing to my cheeks.  "I think so too," I murmur, "Maybe I should steal your jacket too."

He stops tapping on his keyboard and stares at me with an unfamiliar emotion.  I'm about to ask what he's thinking before he removes his jacket and hands it to me.  "I'd like to see that."

I almost think it's a joke, but I take it from him anyway, draping it around my shoulders without putting my arms through the sleeves.  I get the sense that it might be too big on me if I put it on.  A fresh bout of his scent comes with it, sending me into another spiral of unhealthy thoughts.

"I think the universe is trying to tell me something, because you look good in all my clothes," Bakugou leans back in the seat, looking down his nose at me.

The implication makes my heart flutter.  "Yeah, they're actually mine and you'd stolen them from me before.  Or you just have a really girlish figure."  Like hell I believe that, you were probably sculpted from stone by the gods.

"Pfft, whatever you say," he rolls his eyes and looks back his laptop, scanning over the notes he wrote down.  "So, this is the list of themes for each of the books we read for class, wanna hear it just in case it triggers something for you?"

My mind is still hung on the sculpted from the gods thought, so I absently nod  while staring at him to make him think I'm paying attention.  In reality, my thoughts wander to the pictures I'd seen of him a few nights ago, the gym mirror selfies in his tank tops.  His arms are definitely just a teaser for what he probably has underneath that shirt, and I'm betting on there being a washboard waiting for me to run my hands over, judging by the brief glance I had down his shirt earlier.

Unconsciously, my eyes trace down to his black button down.  It practically teases me, his top 2 buttons undone to expose all of his collarbone and the top of his defined chest.  I don't have to go by the low quality mirror posts on his profile or the fuzzy memories from the party, it's right there for me to see.  Flashes of me running my fingers over his neck as I nibble on his ear, rogue noises of his hypothetical sighs of bliss, my hands spreading his shirt open to allow for more space to kiss down his muscular neck.  Each new image quickens my heart rate and sends a new tremor down my body.

I'd love to just devour him.

"Hey!"

Both his voice and the rational one in my head snap me back to reality.  Did I really just-

Annoyance creases in his brow as I recompose myself and sit up straight.  "Sorry, I didn't catch the last thing," my voice comes out noticeably strained.

"What's wrong with you-"  Just like that, his face crosses with an awareness that only morphs into a smirk.  "I guess you're letting your mind wander."

My eyes widen.  Shit, he knows, I'm caught!  "No, I'm just-"

"We've only known each other for a day and you're already obsessed with me, aren't you?"  He leans forward, only to have me lean back, but he pulls the collar of his jacket on me to keep me in place.  "That might be a little unhealthy, don't you think?"

I'm staring at his descending lips, part of me holding a desire for them to quell the feeling I've locked up.

Bakugou hums low, breath caressing my face.  "I think we have some unfinished business from the other night.  You must've been thinking about that."  His gaze flickers down to my slightly agape lips before slamming his down on them.  Though it's not delicate by any means, it still feels like a tester.  Electricity shudders through me at our long-awaited reunion, and when he pulls away for a moment to look down at me with half-lidded eyes, I know he feels the same thing.

And something breaks free inside me.  I hurriedly press my lips back against his, catching him by surprise.  I take the lead, quickening the tempo of our kisses as one of my hands tangle in his soft hair, not giving either of us time to breathe.  Leaning forward into him, my stomach presses into the table corner between us, and I break away from him.  Allowing only a few pants, I jolt from my seat and round the corner to take the place of his lap and join our lips again forcibly, my knees on either side of him, pressing our bodies together against the back of the chair and swiveling into the table for stability.  He was caught off guard before, but he melts into me and allows his hands to grab my waist.

I trail my tongue onto his lower lip before tracing my lips across his jaw.  "You weren't expecting this, were you?"  I breathe against the shell of his ear, his natural musk filling my nostrils.

A low groan escape him.  "I didn't think you wanted me this much.  Must've driven you a little crazy somehow."

My hand tangled in his hair drags down his neck, my nails grazing it ever so slightly, eliciting another growl from him and his grip me tighter.  "I'll show you some of what I was just thinking about."  Starting at the base of his ear, I pepper more open-mouthed kisses down the same neck that's haunted me, sometimes tickling my tongue over the spots he  stiffens up at.

Once I reach the base of his neck, barely caressing that taunting collarbone, I move the opening in his shirt away to expose more of his chest to me, continuing up to where his shoulder and neck conjoin, remaining there to massage it with my lips and lightly graze my teeth on it.  "This little creeper wanted to taste this neck you love to flaunt."  I pull away and meet his wanton gaze.  "I wonder if I should mark it."

Calloused hands dig under my shirt as he catches his breath.  "Depends.  What kind of relationship do you want from me?"  He's holding himself back.

I never stopped to think about it.  He's a pretty great guy, we have pretty strong chemistry, and we bounce off each other really well, not to mention he's the only guy to have awakened such new feelings from me.  Looping my arms around his neck and joining our foreheads together, I mutter against his lips, "Let's go on a few dates maybe?"

He smirks and gives me another slow kiss before pulling away.  "Deal.  But let's take this slow.  I can very easily do something like this to you too, but then how will I get to know you?"

I sit back on his thighs.  "Fair point.  And, just an aside," my face gets warmer at my admittance, "I don't normally do this.  I'm usually more reserved, but you're different, I guess."

"I think you were just really thirsty for a real man," he winks, earning a shove in the chest from me.  "That was an impressive show though, I'll give you credit.  Maybe later, I can show you what goes on in my head.  Except, it's a lot more than just a few neck kisses."

I almost choke on that, my cheeks growing even hotter.

Bakugou's expression softens, the teasing disappearing.  "But before that, we can enjoy ourselves in calmer things.  Like dinner?  Or bowling?"

My chest swells with something lighter than desire.  "Sounds like a plan."

He plants a kiss on my nose.  "Okay, now get off before someone walks in on us.  It's a study room, not a make out room, creep."

I get off him and settle back into my seat.  "I think I prefer the term 'perv,' thank you very much."

[regrettablewritings]

Can i get a pre-relationship headcanon for Jaskier please? Thank you!!

You abso-fruit-ly may!

How did they first meet?: How else? He tagged along with Geralt to a village and set up shop in a tavern. A tavern in which you happened to be renting a room and were peacefully sitting in a corner, trying to enjoy your meal -- until that fanciful fool began his caterwauling about fellatio or whatever innuendo nonsense he was playing a ditty about. You were more than happy to keep on trying to ignore him, passing him off as just another bawdy bard, when he started up a rousing round of a completely different song. A song that had been haunting you for the past year, no matter which village you hopped to, no matter how high the mountain or how low the valley: “Toss a coin to your Witcher, O valley of plenty, o valley of plenty Ooohh --” No . . . That bastard! You nearly caused a commotion when you practically jumped out of your seat, silverware and bowl of stew clattering against the warn wood. You weren’t even sure what you would actually do, but the primal part of you wanting nothing more than to shove a roll down this man’s throat to assure he would never sing that damned song again. But unfortunately, three things stopped you: Common sense, your embarrassment from having the eyes of the patrons on you, and the eyes of the bard. A brilliant and bright blue, paler than the sky, yet bluer than any flower you had ever seen. You might’ve been mystified by them, had he not cracked an annoyingly boyish grin at you and chuckled, “Well, it seems like the spook in the corner is even taken by the song. All together now! Toss a coin to your Witcher -- ” As the rest of the room chorused in, you sank back into your seat, embarrassed, irritated, completely flabbergasted, and now knowing who your enemy was.

What was their first impression of each other?: You thought of him as a peacock: Nice to look at, obnoxious to hear. Well, when he was talking, at least. And a little bit of his singing. It wasn’t that his voice (speaking or singing) was anything bad, rather, the man simply didn’t know when to shut up. Or what to sing about. And you also hated him for getting that damned Witcher song stuck in your head for the past year. You were actually much more interested in his Witcher companion, the muse of the song, if only because the white-haired man’s familiarity with nature and the supernatural better aligned with your personal interests of penning a proper field guide of the continent. In his arrogance, Jaskier admittedly saw you as a fan. He was, after all, in his groove of being an entertainer. In what he considers his defense, you certainly weren’t bad to look at -- definitely the prettiest little thing in there. He had every intention of strolling up to you after the song and perhaps convincing you into participating in what was sure to be the best, most spiritually orgasmic night of your life.

Did any of their friends or family want them to get together?: Neither of you have any family to speak of (at least, not anyone you’re in contact enough for their thoughts to matter). And Geralt, being the closest and most consistent thing to a friend that Jaskier has in his nomadic lifestyle, didn’t have any especial feelings regarding the idea of you two being together. As far as the Witcher was concerned, you were just some guide-writer who decided to come along for the ride -- he never would’ve thought about you and Jaskier getting together romantically, especially considering your near constant bemusement towards the man’s antics.

Who felt romantic feelings first?: Jaskier, surprisingly. Maybe it has something to do with his draw towards people who are hard to achieve? Well, whatever the case, he’s pretty aware of his emotions. He doesn’t always voice them or act the most directly about them, depending, but once he’s aware of them, he knows they’re not going to go anywhere any time soon. So the moment he realized he actually liked you as more than just a travel companion and even more than just a potential bedmate, he just . . . let that feeling stay. Though, not without some drawbacks: The unfortunate thing about Jaskier is that when he’s really attracted to someone, all proper confidence in his actions and diction take a dramatic fall, leaving him a clumsy mess. You weren’t really sure what to make of it when you found the bard struggling to poeticize words around you. You wanted to recognize it as a sign of peace at last but truth be told, you’d grown used to his prose-y way of speaking. Dare you say . . . even fond of it? You eventually settled on being concerned about it. But then again, perhaps he was just tired? Well, whatever the case may be, you tried not to dwell on it. Though whenever the group broke camp the following month, or whenever you saw Jaskier attempting to pen his next song, you tried your best to offer him your services as a kind gesture. It was both a blessing, for it inspired him, and a curse, for the blush that flooded his cheeks mortified him.

Did either of them try to resist their feelings?: You definitely tried to when you came to realize you not only liked him, but wanted to be with him. You didn’t want to be another notch in the bedpost for the infamous philanderer for one. And for another, you just simply couldn’t want to kiss the very man you’d been bumpy with the very moment he saw you . . . Right? Well, the gods tended to not be known for their fairness when it came to the affairs of the heart. Or sanity, for that matter. Even with rocky starts aside, you worried over what acting upon these feelings could mean: Would the dynamic of the group change if you and Jaskier were to become romantically involved? Was Jaskier even capable of remaining loyal to you? What if things ende dup not working out? Would it be best if you left? Would Jaskier leave? . . . Would Jaskier even want to be with you at all!? The thought made your stomach cringe, forcing you to think back and regret the annoyance you displayed towards him when you’d first met. As far as you saw it, you had fucked up: You fucked up for acting as you had, and now you fucked up for falling for the silly man. All the while, Geralt is watching you two morons and just grunting with exasperation.

If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think?: Honestly, it would probably still play out about the same: With Jaskier being a lackadaisical moron at the beginning of it, and you annoyed by his presence but also reluctant about your own. “If we’re soulmates, then we’ll inevitably get together,” is Jaskier’s logic. So he’ll sing to you and bat those pretty blue eyes of his, but ultimately he’s not going to go out of his way to be especially directed at you. At first. The moment you begin to indicate that you might seek affection tailored to you in another man, Jaskier gets nervous: You’re supposed to be soulmates, right? You shouldn’t be able to live without him . . . right? It eventually becomes evident that this is not the case: Soulmates or not, if he wants to keep you, he has to actually make an effort. And an effort, he does try to make: Of course, he still goes to tried-and-trues by devoting songs to you. But what he also may do is spend some of his coin on art supplies or new notebooks for you to write and sketch in whenever you come to wealthier areas that might offer leather-bound books. He actually sits and talks with you and listens to you tell him about your findings, what made you want to create a field guide in the first place, etc. And then it turns to talks about the future: Do you ever want to settle down? Do you want to have kids? Do you ever plan on going back to the city from which you originated from, or will you just go back to the place you loved the most on your voyages? And he commits these things to memory. Sometimes, when you’re at a pub and he premiers his newest work, you hear traces and references to your conversations woven into the lyrics: They create tapestries of beasts you’ve encountered, rivers you’ve ridden along, and the mountaintop views you sometimes still dream about. And it’s in those words that you know that in spite of how he acted earlier, this soulmate business really is important to Jaskier: For all intents and purposes, he truly wants to entwine your souls by marrying his love of music and your love of the world together. And as stubborn as you are at first about it, once you see how hard he’s willing to work, you don’t think you would mind that. In due time, of course.

Thanks for asking!

[elysian-drops]

Rest assured, I and many other readers have zero issue with your writing being "too flowery and detailed". While yes, it can be a hard style to adapt to reading, I agree that this far in the story if it was that big of an issue naturally you'd just stop reading. Or get over it if you like the storyline that much. Personally I adore your writing style, and I'm really hoping you're considering publishing professionally in the future (original work obviously though Appetence is quite original itself) because I think I speak for the crowd when I say we'd love to read more of your work.

Hi there!

Thank you so much 😭💕 It means a lot to me that you’ve taken the time to reassure me you don’t mind my prose 💕 And absolutely! I understand how I write isn’t going to be to everyone’s taste— it was more so I was caught off-guard by that anon seeing how far we are into Appetence already 😅

Asdfghjk— I’m soft 🥺💕 Honestly, hearing that you adore my writing is just the pick-me-up I needed to hear today. In terms of publishing original works, I’ve actually been looking into it + have a few projects underway! Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m leaving the fandom anytime soon (not with how many fics I have planned— the hooks are deep 😂😂)

Thank you again for the message and for putting a smile on my face 💕

[bubbyleh]

A Series of Shockingly Close Calls (ch.1)

oh no I fan fic’d a fan fic. I got thinking about soft monster au Boomer moments and it made my brain go bbbbrrrrr so then this happened. I’m woozy as hell because nobody told me that the antacids they were putting me on would make me not able to absorb my thyroid meds so I’m both very hypo, very potsy (cus hypo makes my p.o.t.s. worse) and in withdrawal so there’s no blood in my brain and I’m wacked out which makes me get suuuuuper purple with my prose so sorry for all the “forthright"s and "moreovers”. I’m just a little creature I cannot help this. Written in one sitting and probably a lot of typos and I’m sorry if I accidenally used ‘he’ for bubs in there somewhere I was having trouble with that. Once again, I’m p deep in withdrawal rn so bear with me. Anyway let me know if this is acceptable to put on ao3 as a gift fic to your fic. (yes I do plan on their being more than one chapter. no I make no promises due to aforementioned medical issues)

crocs here! sorry to put this in the middle of your submission, but i thought it’d get lost at the end. this is amazing! fanfic of a fanfic? i love this so much and i’m going to cherish it forever, thank you!

you can post this to ao3, i would be so happy if you did! i hope you feel better soon, i know health problems can be sucks. and don’t worry if you called bubby “he”, i write them using he/they pronouns (i just default to “they” for simplicity). 

also, i hope you don’t mind that i put a read more in! ________

Three months.

  Three months into Harold Coomer’s acquaintanceship with his eccentric and eclectic(in both taste and physical composition) companion was the first time the homunculus had begun to feel, as they’d put it, ‘drained’. 

  Bubby had explained to an enraptured Coomer,on more than one occasion, the nature of their state of reanimation, far different from Coomer’s own. They were a man-made construct of flesh, artfully pieced together from pieces of different corpses, stitched into a singular being and imbued with life by the great and terrible force of the heavens, in the form of lightning. 

  Coomer said it reminded him of Prometheus, sculpting mankind from clay.

  Bubby said it reminded them of a penny dreadful.

They existed in a state between life and death, though not quite undeath, either. Certainly each composite part of them, corpses as they had been, could be considered undead, but Bubby themself was a new creation that came into life for the first time upon the metal slab of their creators laboratory, never having ‘died’ and therefore not being themselves brought back from the dead, but nevertheless composed of reanimated parts.  

  They were sustained not by blood coursing through veins, but rather electricity, which was honestly a boon for Coomer. He was still fairly young, by vampire standards, anyway, and his self control could be…spotty at times, and it was nice to have a companion that he could sit beside and feel no desire to tear their throat out and drain them of their life juices. They could subsist without food or drink if they needed to, as well, which was also helpful, as it was often not possible for either of them to venture into civilization to obtain rations of any kind.

However, there were downsides to Bubby’s condition, as well, which began to make themselves apparent those three months in.

  Bubby’s escape from the lab of their creation was as unplanned as it was unorthodox. The whole thing had apparently been pure chaos from beginning to end, and Bubby didn’t seem to enjoy talking about it very much. Certainly an angry mob was involved, at least some pitchforks and torches, and a massive inferno of less than fully explained origin(‘Fire good,’ Bubby had said with a shrug), the last of which providing a convenient distraction for Bubby to make their escape into the nearby woods, but they hadn’t exactly had ample time to plan or provision their flight. They couldn’t take any of the tools or resources their creator had with them when they fled. They had no idea what they would need, nor any idea of what to expect when they were away from that lab for any extended period of time

  Three months after their escape, it began to become apparent.  

  Coomer noticed long before Bubby said anything, and, in fact, had to more or less force a confession out of them about it. 

  Bubby just began to…slow, the way one does when they’ve gone too long without proper sleep. They began to stumble more often, to take longer to think of words, and such. The difference was very slight, only so drastic as someone who had woken up an hour or so before they’d have liked to that morning, and generally only became noticeable when Bubby was themself tired, but sleep never seemed to completely chase away that fatigue and Coomer worried. 

  He especially worried when Bubby practically panicked at Coomer’s slight inquiry into the subject, insisting far too forcefully that nothing was wrong and changing the subject. Coomer was eventually able to wrestle(both metaphorically and literally) an answer from them.

  Energy of any kind, is finite, and that included the energy that maintained Bubby’s state of ‘half life’. Without supplementing it, it would eventually run out. Bubby’s creator had a huge contraption of wire and steel that Bubby would be attached to via the bolts on their neck. When lightning struck the lightning rod atop the laboratory roof, it would travel down those wires into the bolts and, by extension, Bubby, ‘recharging’ them, as Bubby put it. 

  “Why on Earth didn’t you tell me?” Coomer demanded.

  “Because I didn’t…Because it’s none of your business!” Bubby snapped. “I don’t go snooping into how you get your ‘fix’! When you disappear into a town for the night, I don’t pry into your sudden improvement in pallor. I don’t ask you about the screams!”

  Coomer flinched. It was a low blow and he was immediately inclined to take the bait, but the look in their eyes gave him pause. It was a fearful glint like a trapped animal, lashing out in fear, not anger. 

  He huffed out a small, unnecessary breath and crossed his arms.

  “What is this really about?” he asked, voice calm, but stern. “Why didn’t you…,” his voice wavered, ever so slightly, “Why didn’t you trust me?” 

  The anger in Bubby’s face drained in an instant, falling instead into a look of pain and remorse.

  “No, it’s not like that!” they insisted. “I just…I didn’t…I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t…I didn’t want you to…”

  “To what?”

  Bubby sighed, deflating. They averted their eyes, not meeting Coomer’s gaze. 

  “I didn’t want you to leave me behind,” they admitted at last, voice barely above a whisper. “There’s never been anything else like me before. I don’t know exactly how I work or how to keep myself working. I was afraid if you realized that, if you thought I couldn’t take care of myself, you’d…decide I was too much trouble.”

  Coomer burst out laughing.

  Any meekness to Bubby’s expression vanished in an instant and their bolts sparked with indignation. 

  “Why is it every time I bare my soul to you you laugh?!” they spat.

  Coomer wiped a tear from his eye. 

  “Forgive me, Bubby,” he said. “It just strikes me as so completely preposterous I can’t help but laugh!”

  “That I don’t even know how I can exist?” Bubby snarled. “That I don’t have any idea how this…hodge podge of flesh I call a body can even hold itself together? That I could just stop working one day and have no idea why? You find that ‘preposterous’?” they again cast their eyes to the ground, a mixture of shame and rage on their face.

  Coomer’s expression softened and he stepped towards Bubby to lay a hand gently on their cheek and guide their face up to meet his gaze.

  “That you could think there was anything that would make me want to not be with you,” he said.

  Bubby’s eyes went wide and his bolts sparked again, but with a softer sort of ‘hum’ of energy, rather than the earlier harsh zapping. 

  “You are one of a kind, Bubby,” he went on. “I’ve never even heard of something like you. I didn’t think something like you could even exist. It’s fascinating! You’re fascinating.”

  Bubby’s mouth opened and closed like they wanted to speak, but couldn’t find any words.

  “It’s easy, as an immortal, even one so relatively young as myself, to feel as though the world begins to stagnate.” Coomer continued. “That someday one will reach the point at which existence can yield nothing else but that with which one is already too well acquainted. But you…You’re something entirely new. Something unprecedented. There’s so much to learn from you. About you. I want to… understand you.”

  Coomer dropped his hand from Bubby’s face to their shoulder, this time being the one to avert his gaze.

  “Moreover, I want to…I want to see you experience this world, as new to you as you are to it,” he said. Had he not been long dead, a flush would have probably risen to his cheek. “There’s so much you haven’t seen, haven’t done. I want you to see them, to do them. And moreso, I want to show them to you, give them to you. The way your eyes light up at things I’ve lived in fear someday would hold for me only monotony and makes me feel as though I could never again find them mundane…I want to see that. I want…I want to never stop seeing it.”

  He braved a glance back up at Bubby, who was agape with shock. 

  “Nothing so trivial as a lack of energy could possibly deter me,” he said, voice resolute. “Even if I have to build a tower of steel and wire myself, there’s nothing that would make me leave you. For as long as…as long as you’ll have me.”

  Bubby’s hand clasped onto Coomer’s still resting on their shoulder, holding on like they expected him to disappear if their grip wavered. 

  “Forever!” they said, instantly, then seemed to panic at their own forthrightness. “I mean, for as…for as long as you’ll have me.” 

  Their bolts were crackling with electricity now, sending off small, glowing motes and arcs of energy. 

  Coomer smiled and reached out with his other hand to touch Bubby’s cheek again.

  Many years later, when Coomer would become fully educated on the idea of a ‘circuit’ and the ramifications of completing one by placing one’s hands on either side of what was essentially an openly sparking power source, the resulting occurrence would be an interesting and enlightening memory.

  As it stood in the moment, the resulting electrocution simply caused him to be rendered briefly unconscious and his hair to not lie flat for a week. 

[cherryboi01]

Writeblr intro :D

Hiya! It’s been a while since I’ve really interacted with this account so I’m deciding to redo my introduction/give a little update!

I’m Zena! 🪰

17, Black, and Nonbinary (they/them)

I’m a realistic fiction writer who also enjoys sci-fi! I love YA/NA novels and write mine with poc and lgbtq characters. 

Romance, angst, and violence scratches the itch in my brain.

I will write characters who are shitty people, but still love them because I have issues :D (looking at you Tony)

Mostly prose, but a little (little) poetry

I’ve been writing seriously for the last four-ish years

Currently, I’m working on Everything but Happiness which is the first linear storyline I’ve ever worked on. It’s extremely in progress (50k words done), and I’ve been writing it for six months now. I struggle a lot writing it because I kinda don’t know what I’m doing (?) but I’m really excited to continue working on it. While having a fairly new wip is a great thing, I’ve also lost a lot in my two year long break from this platform.

When I first joined the writing community, I was 15 (yikes) and writing a separate work called Sit, Speak. At the moment, I haven’t touched that book since Summer 2019. I still think of the characters sometimes and all of the ways I could’ve used them, but I don't feel the spark I used to. Maybe in a couple months or even a year I’d go back and look at it from a different perspective. For now, I’ve discontinued it and don’t see myself picking it up in the near future.

Another WIP I’ve (kinda) discontinued was Kisses Under Oil Painted Skies. I say kinda because I technically haven’t discontinued it. I plan on writing something for that book early next year (2021), but for me, it's become more of a comforting side project. I don’t view it as an “actual book” (whatever the hell that means) anymore, and write chapters for it purely for my own amusement. Some would argue that that still makes it a book -- because I should be writing for myself anyways. It was my first book that really helped me get my footing with this whole writing thing, but I was young (we’re talking 14), and it’s very disorganized. 

I also made a six-work mini zine/portfolio recently. Each submission was a short story with a max word count of 3,000 words which was really hard for me since my average works are anywhere in the 3k - 6k range. It was stressful but working towards hard set deadlines is something that actually forces me to write. Shocking, I know. Still, I’d love to work on something of that caliber again. 

Anyhow, I hope to accomplish lots of things with this blog in the coming year and to document my process while writing. I also have plans for a lot of wip ideas I have like (and their temporary names):

EBH (Everything but Happiness/College drug au)

Gay astronauts (gay space adventures)

Office people

Another 6 work portfolio

Dear Elise (a chapter for kuops)

Only you (murder mystery)

Japan murder (another murder mystery)

And more!

Anyways, that's it from me. Expect a wip intro for EBH soon and hearing my never-ending trifles with being a writer. I hope we grow to be good friends :D

-bena 🪰