#stand-alone

[sorbusscriptor]

“Really. You're the best they could send?"

"The best! At least, the best that was willing and physically able to assist."

"So, what, is everyone else dead?"

"Oh, only half a dozen or so, but that's only actually preventing two of them from coming."

"So four of them--"

"Could assist, yes. They declined due to other obligations. Dr Peren and Professor Cales are, unfortunately, physically unable to meet with you."

"Because they're dead?"

"Well, they are dead, but that isn’t entirely the reason. Doctor Peren is of course a Litch, and while that usually wouldn't hinder her movements her phylactery is, well... her entire office. A dispute with a coworker, you know, the location was quite coveted. Beautiful windows. 'Not even over my dead body' was what she'd said, and, well..."

"She bound her soul to her office so her colleagues couldn't steal her spot?”

"Yep!"

"...And the professor..?"

"Oh, he implemented a do-not-resurrect policy on himself, wished to study the planes beyond more thoroughly. He’s planning on returning with his findings eventually, which lots of people think is madness, but if anyone could draw themselves back through the planes without an established anchor it would be him. I wouldn’t bet against it.”

"So they sent you, even though we asked for an experienced necromancer, one at the top of their field. And you're telling me that you are the best they could do because the rest are either busy, or, and i cannot say this with any more emphasis on the irony of it, dead. Who the hell even are you?"

"Oh, i'm Professor Cales's assistant! Just graduated, needed some work. Now that he's on sabbatical--"

"—dead and likely never coming back because he didn't anchor--"

"--I have much more free time while i'm waiting for him! Need to keep myself sharp without any grading to do, after all! And this puzzle—“

“—Mystery with the potential to unravel death and magic as we know it—“

“Yes, that, it seems a perfect learning opportunity!”

[paragraphs-and-pages]

Gwen & Art Are Not in Love by Lex Croucher

Continue reading Gwen & Art Are Not in Love by Lex Croucher

[quirky-book-reads]

Her Convenient Vow to the Billionaire

Genre: Mills & Boon, Harlequin Presents, Contemporary Romance The shocking twist to their reunion…She must marry the tycoon! Playboy CEO Rafael is determined to demolish the biggest demon from his past: the Greek orphanage he once called home. It’s a cruel reminder of all he’s lost, including his childhood sweetheart Sabrina. But then she shows up to stop him! When Rafael offers to hand over…

[egg-a1]

Sometimes, A1 could hear people talking through the glass of the experiments and the padding of her room.

She never saw them. She could always hear them.

It was always stuff she didn't understand. Residents and islands. Eggs with names not like hers at all (no letters, just numbers- but someones someone will slip up. Words. Actual names-), gods and angels and fucked up creatures. Robots. Ducks and whatever a human resource or a cryo chamber was. Nothing she could visualize; though she's fairly certain she was shown a picture of a duck, once.

She's not positive, though.

They call her specific things, so she picks up what kids are- kids like her. Egg. Kid. Dragon. The most common was "Ay-One." It's the thing darkened on her clothes and into her skin. A1. Group A, Egg 1. She always wondered if that meant she was the first- maybe the oldest?- but there was no way to answer. If she asked, there was a punishment for speaking out of line; it's against the obedience training, it's the 'curiosity killed the cat', it's tougher trials to go through.

So she doesn't ask. Just like she never mentions 'residents' or 'cryo chamber'-es. She stays quiet. Like she's supposed to. Like she was taught. She stayed quiet, eats the food they put through the slot in her door, and waits until they're gone- (the workers. The ones who stare at her with empty eyes like she was just another thing they've seen; nothing unique and nothing to spare a thought for-) to curl up in the corner, knees to chest, face smushed into the soft skin of her arm.

The floor was never quite warm enough. The food was never quite filling. One day she hopes to find something better.

Tomorrow was another day. Maybe she'd learn more through the door tomorrow.

[vreugd-madelon]

Project Hail Mary Review

Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir is a 476 adult Science Fiction Stand-Alone novel. 

A lone astronaut. An impossible mission. An ally he never imagined. Ryland Grace is the sole survivor on a desperate, last-chance mission - and if he fails, humanity and the earth itself will perish. Except that right now, he doesn't know that. He can't even remember his own name, let alone the nature of his assignment or how to complete it. All he knows is that he's been asleep for a very, very long time. And he's just been awakened to find himself millions of miles from home, with nothing but two corpses for company. His crewmates dead, his memories fuzzily returning, Ryland realizes that an impossible task now confronts him. Hurtling through space on this tiny ship, it's up to him to puzzle out an impossible scientific mystery-and conquer an extinction-level threat to our species. And with the clock ticking down and the nearest human being light-years away, he's got to do it all alone. Or does he?

I rate this book 5/5 stars.

I loved this story in the end while in the beginning there were a few speedbumps because I don’t usually read sci-fi books.  I really like how we slowly but surely learn about Ryland’s past and now he came to be on the spaceship. But there is still one question that I have in my mind. How did his crew die? It’s never really clearly explained within the book. While I do have that one thing life bothering my mind, it didn’t lessen my enjoyment of the book and story.

The character work was amazing, Ryland feels like a Gary Sue in the beginning since we don’t have any background on him and he’s able to just know/do all types of things. In the beginning the flashbacks were to establish certain details that were needed to progress the story, but later they just provide background information. (When I wrote my notes, apparently I found them annoying, but looking back on them after a week or 2, I don’t anymore).

Rocky is my favourite characters. More I’m not going to say, because I don’t wanna spoil the entire book but when Ryland and Rocky split up to go home I genuinely bawled my eyes out and had to put the book down for a moment.  The ending itself was a twist as well which I didn’t see coming in a million years, and I’ve yet to decide whether I’m happy with it, but it’s a very closed ending which it really nice. Maybe in the future a short story of Eva Stratt’s POV would be really nice, just saying.

Do you have any questions? Or maybe some recommendations? Send me an ask here on Tumblr or tweet me.  If you wish to support me, you can buy me a coffee! Or even buy my debut fantasy novel, The Mending Road.  

[jungkookfanfictionhappy]

finale isn't out yet but the parts can even be read as stand-alones imo. This drabble series is sooo adorable 😭❤️

our little private love affair | jjk; masterlist

plot | You and Jungkook have been dating for almost two years now. It sounds normal and great except you two have been keeping it behind everyone’s back. A bunch of scenarios happens as you and Jungkook try to keep your relationship private.

genres | fluff, angst, crack/humor, secret relationship au, established relationship au, friends to lovers au

pairing | jungkook x reader

note | just a bunch of drabbles/scenarios. there’s a big chance that these didn’t happen in order. below are the titles/prompts. drabbles will be posted in a random order. asks are open :))

main masterlist

dogs can keep secrets, right?  — You and Jungkook decided to adopt a dog. When your friends met your dog for the first time, they cannot help but to notice how Bam and Jungkook became close pretty much quickly. 

blind date  —  With the knowledge of you being single, your best friend tries to convince you into a blind date. All while your secret boyfriend watched as you rejected the idea.

new year’s eve tradition  —   How you and Jungkook got together before the secret relationship.

the morning after  —   It’s new year’s day. As you and Jungkook talks about last night, an unexpected visitor came.

sunshower  —   Just a water fight with your boyfriend and dog during the blazing heat.

sick day  —  After having a spontaneous water fight with your dog and boyfriend, you ended up sick. Jungkook takes care of you as you tried to keep your distance.

let’s do portraits  —  Bored, you and Jungkook to do portraits of one another.

sweaty morning  —  When Blaire decided to wake up early while she and her friends are in her aunt’s beach house, she noticed two of her friends were up early.

hello boyfriend  —  You’re drunk. Blaire was supposed to drive home but you want no one except your boyfriend to pick you up. The boyfriend that Blaire completely knows nothing about.

surprise, surprise -  When you asked what your boyfriend wants for Valentine’s, Jungkook challenged you to surprise him. But when you did, he wasn’t the only one surprised.

the truth, the lie, and the surprise - After Wooshik receives the surprise meant for your boyfriend, Jungkook is put in an interrogation situation to talk about his undisclosed relationship with a certain ‘Princess’.

the crown -  While staying in Blaire’s beach house, your friends cannot help but notice your new tattoos. The ones you got with your secret boyfriend.

a summer fashion choice - This summer heat got you and your friends to enjoy your day at Blaire’s beach house in the ocean. While everyone suits in their swimwear, your friends wonder why Jungkook your secret boyfriend is wearing a high-neck shirt.

catching morning ghosts - Before leaving the beach house, one of yours and Jungkook’s friends caught something unbelievable.

all out(finale) 

Keep reading

[chiptrillino-art]

(ID in ALT text)

"got your nose"

[chloesimaginationthings]

Pomni and Gummigoo reunite in TADC!

[thatskindarough]

“‘I just…I thought you might like to come back, one day,’ Crowley said very quietly. Aziraphale’s foot pressed against his again, and Crowley drew in a sudden breath, as if he hadn’t been breathing properly since Aziraphale had stopped touching him.”

This piece was a commission from the lovely @fellshish for their lovely friend, @alphacentaurinebula ‘s fic What Are You Doing Here? This fic is cute, funny, heartwarming, and incredibly spicy, and I’m very much looking forward to finishing it! Thank you Fells for being wonderful to work with, and happy (belated) birthday to you Alphacentauri, I’m very happy I could do this for you!

[silvereyedowl]

Based on the above, the following is how I personally define "filler":

An installment of a larger series that has absolutely no impact on any other installment.

No character development

Nothing introduced in the episode is ever mentioned again, so no worldbuilding

And, of course, no introduction or development of any major plot threads

Looking at it this way, you can see that, outside of the above-mentioned anime definition, true filler is quite rare.

An installment of a larger series with a stand-alone plot is just that, a stand-alone episode/issue/chapter/insert appropriate term here.

[paragraphs-and-pages]

Love, Theoretically by Ali Hazelwood

Happy release date to Love, Theoretically by Ali Hazelwood! I’m so happy to be celebrating the release of this book with you all, especially with the team at Berkeley and everyone else on the blog tour! I absolutely devoured this book (and definitely lost sleep because of it), and I’m so happy it’s finally out in the world for you all to devour too! My review is below, and I hope it convinces…

[quirky-book-reads]

A Mother's War

My 3.5* review of A Mother's War by Helen Parusel (@HelenParusel). A Mother's War is an emotive story about one woman's journey of friendship and other experiences as she falls in love with the enemy... #historicalfiction #ww2 #comingofage #debutnovel

Genre: Historical Fiction A forbidden romance in occupied Norway… Narvik, 1940. After Laila awakens to the sight of warships in the fjord, it isn’t long before she turns resistor to the brutal Nazi regime. She is horrified when local girls begin affairs with enemy soldiers, yet against her own principles, she finds herself falling in love with German soldier, Josef. Josef is not like the…

[composeregg]

edit (10/23/2024) now that the poll is over: Original version, with 10 questions, from April 2023 here

And, given that the original is from April 2023, that means I can very easily say:

No, this was not an ISAT reference!

Just because I use parentheses and 2nd person pov and love the same concepts of what a time loop can do to a person doesn't mean it's ISAT

(Yes, I like ISAT, the original poll is why I was recommended the game! But if you look at the original, you can see all the origins of the options to choose from, including what spurred me on with the moss option from the replies)

If I were going to make something for ISAT, I would never be so vague, you can simply look at my ao3 for proof of that

[sorbusscriptor]

 It's not something done often. But my client is powerful, and demanding, and I am not a ghost.

I do have something to loose, so I get to work.

The obvious first move is out -- this court has no jury. There's no point in it when any peers that could be called on are dead -- no memories, no allegiance, also means no emotional distinction from each other. These trials run on logic and language and little else.

The next is the judge. Dead like all the others, unmoored and without any mortal memories in his head. Not having memories, however, doesn't mean there weren't ever any. All the dead were once living, and all the living, once, had minds. Had memories. Had loved ones. The point is that all of those connections are severed at death. The point is that this court is supposed to be immortally impartial.

What I'm not doing is looking up the people that the judge knew in life. Lovers, children, descendants. That's been tried before, and it hasn't worked. No memories means no memories, and those who have tried to use relatives as a carrot or a stick have just lead to a trial interference charge. I'm looking for things more fundamental than love, more basal than attachment.

I've got contacts on the surface for this sort of thing. The kind of contacts who really shouldn't be on the surface, the same way I really shouldn't be down here. The kind of ghosts who never let go of their lifelines, the same way I let go of mine.

They provide me with a dossier. It tells me our judge was a drinker. It tells me he liked to smoke. Those are the kind of things I can work with.

Getting liquor and cigs is harder, down here, but not impossible. There are markets for that sort of thing, for mortal contraband, if you know where to look and don't mind trading away things like memories or teeth. Memories I've got plenty of, and not even all the ones I trade are mine. 

I leave with a bag shifting heavily against my side and without the knowledge of what the air looks like in the bitter cold, and head to the courts.

The dead don't sleep. The ghosts who act as the mechanisms of the court don't have homes, just offices, identical rooms in endless hallways in the impossibly large structure. They don't go home at night, nor is there night at all. The long of the law ticks around the clock here.

Now, something that's important to know about the ghost courts is that they are not part of the underworld, nor are they connected with mortal planes. They are an entity unto themselves, built of mist and forgetfulness. It is a realm of ghosts, and one that sticks to their will the same way wood and stone lay still for mortals in their world. No passing through walls for them, not here, but in a curious sort of irony, mortals in realms built for ghosts have the same sort of powers that ghosts do in the mortal planes; the powers of intangibility.

It's this that I use to get into the courts without any sort of pass, striding right through a wall into one of the infinitely many offices lining the lower floors, used by legal aides or stenographers. Up the grand curving staircase to the upper floors, and then three steps that feel like miles, and I'm at the door of the Honorable. None of the ghosts here have names. It's part of the whole no memory, no attachment deal, and partly designed to stop me from doing exactly what I'm about to do.

I knock, polite. It takes some effort for my hand to not go right through the door. Yes, same as I passed through the wall to get here, I could just walk in. But this part is delicate, and I can't afford to get security called on me right out of the gate.

(This is also why my client is not, technically, my client -- we have no legal or even traceable connection, because if this goes poorly, my client's trial won't be affected. And I'll be in deep, deep water, but I'm not new to that.)

"Enter."

And I do. The judge is sitting at his desk, a huge oaken thing, faintly see-through like everything else in this place, oddly devoid of colour. I've been told that the ghosts don't see it that way, that to them, everything is vibrant and solid as if it was real, and that I am the one that appears translucent and misty. "Honorable." I say, ducking my head. He looks up at me, impassive. Not like these ghosts ever have a different expression. I take a step forward into the room, softly close the door behind me. "If you would, I have... something to offer you. For all the good work you do here." My voice is honey-sweet, resonant in the room.

He doesn't start frowning -- the ghosts here don't really do that, frown, smile, make expressions -- but this does catch his interest. As much as this isn't something ever expected to happen -- no one thinks you can bribe or blackmail a being without wants, without needs, without memories -- the judge isn't stupid. No one gives gifts to the members of the courts, not without the expectation of something in return. Mainly this is because the people on trial are also ghosts, and thus don't feel gratitude. 

Lucky me, I'm not a ghost. I get to play on my supposed sentimentality. "You were the judge on my case," I say, still warm and sweet, take another step forwards, "Oh, it was ages ago. But I've been doing well lately, and I thought, a lot of that is thanks to your resolution. So I thought I'd swing by to... thank you." I put the bag on the desk; it settles with a nice dull clink. I smile.

I don't need to worry about him checking my claim. He doesn't have the memories to know if I'm lying or not, and I'm a good enough liar that i don't think he'll clock it. At least, not yet.

He looks at the bag on the desk. "The thought is appreciated." He says. Once again, his face screams blank indifference. Ghosts, ghosts, ghosts. No wants, no needs, no memories. He doesn't even reach for it to see what it is. I squash the annoyance; I had known this would happen.

"More appreciated soon, I'm sure." I say, and then take some initiative and pull the bottle out of the bag, heavy glass and glowing amber, and set that on the desk, a little closer towards the judge. I see the widening of his eyes, the unconscious swallow of this throat, and I think, got you.

This is what I'd been looking for -- more than love, more than personhood, more than memories. Addiction, good and basal, because there's nothing a haunting understands like addiction. It's all a ghost is; it's all any of us are, deep down and hidden; a collection of things we can't put down. Yes, they try their best down here to strip the ghosts that run the courts of these impulses, and they do a good enough job that it truly doesn't matter until someone shows up waving around a bottle. Someone like me. His arm twitches like he's about to reach forward before he stills himself. "I can't drink that." He says, and there's an expression on his face for the first time in this conversation.

"Hm, not like that." I say, lean forward, conspiratorial. Hook, line, sinker. "But I can help with that. If you like."

He looks at me, and I know I've got him. "How." He asks, voice rough.

I turn my hand palm-up on the desk, fix my charming smile to my face. I do hate this part, no matter the thrill of the rest of the con, the relief at knowing that my client won't have to follow through on any of her promises. "Take my hand."

The judge does, reaching over the desk to do so. The moment he makes contact, I close my eyes and pull. It's a feeling like trying to swallow my own tongue, like filling my veins up with something caustic.

I'd mentioned earlier that mortals in the ghost courts can do the same kind of things ghosts can in the mortal realm. One of those things is possession, in an inverse. I am pulling this ghost inside of me, knitting it's essence into my muscle and my marrow. When I open my eyes again there's a pressure behind them like a held sneeze, and my vision is curiously doubled; I can see the room the way the ghost sees it, sold and rich wood-brown, and also the way I do, flimsy and ephemeral. "Hhh." I wheeze, inarticulate, breath catching in my throat.

It always takes a moment for them to settle. And for me to get used to the feeling, no matter how many times I've done this.

I give myself five seconds, and then straighten, smooth down my shirt. This is one of the advantages of possession in the ghost courts as opposed to up in the real world; I am not the one who has to give up control. "Well, then." I say, and pick up the bottle. While I've come prepared with a bottle opener -- real mortal metal and plastic, solid in my hand -- I didn't bring any glasses, and my new best friend the judge doesn't have any in his office either. It's an oversight that makes my lips twist -- I'll have to rectify it next time.

(As to why I hadn't considered this earlier; somehow, alcohol hadn't ever been the addiction of choice for any of the other ghosts I've done this to before. Cigarettes, cigars. Gambling, sometimes. Sex, thankfully, only once or twice. A lot of it is luckily more tame -- more than half my marks have made do with a simple hearty meal. Some of them crave violence, pain. The kind of sensation that is lost to them now as spirits.)

I can feel the hollow yearning in the ghost inside of me, so I take a swig directly from the bottle. Again, it's a nauseating dual sensation; I want to retch at the taste, the way it stings, but the ghost feels it go down smooth and warm, and I feel myself sigh, long and relieved. I take another sip, cross over to the other side of the desk and throw myself into the judge's chair. Another long drink, and he sighs again, from somewhere deep in my chest. "Not so bad, is it?"

I'm glad it's looking like we won't need the cigarettes after all -- they're quick and easy enough, but I hate smoking almost as much as I hate drinking. I'd hate to have to do both.

The ghost doesn't answer me. Not because it can't -- I've done this with some very chatty ghosts -- but more than likely because it's savoring the taste and feel of the booze too much to bother to listen to me. I don't mind, I've never liked having my voicebox hijacked. So, we sit in silence, sipping away at the brandy. I can tell the judge wants me to take bigger swallows, drink a little more, but I've got plans and also genuinely don't think I can handle chugging the stuff. A quarter through the bottle, I take one final, long swallow, and set it down on the desk. "Now that, I think, is enough for now." I say, and before the judge can say anything against it, I expel him; a rush of wind and noise and velcro hooks tearing away from my inside. I stay sitting in the chair, one leg crossed over the other, casual as you like. The judge stumbles back, standing on the other side of the desk.

He looks breathless, even without breath. I smile at him, foxlike, deftly cork the bottle. "Got a lot left." I say, as the judge stares at it, longingly. I stand, amble around the desk. "If you want more..."

"Yes." He says, instant, desperate. That snake that lives in all of us stealing his tongue and choking the answer out. He'd do anything for the rest of the bottle. I know it, so does he.

"Then I'll be back." I say, pull a card out of my pocket and press it onto the desk. "That's a case number. I'd like it to go in the defendant's favor, you understand. And if it does..."

"You'll be back." He says, eyes glancing down at the card. I nod, pat him on the arm.

"I'll be back." I agree. "And we can finish that bottle."

I leave him with the card, and leave him alone with the bottle. I trust he'll keep it, tucked away somewhere in his office. The only allegiance he has left, a string to pull on that can't be cut.

The one thing none of us can leave behind. 

Not even the ghosts.

Text: The court is populated by ghosts, ghost prosecutors, defense attorneys, judges. Nothing to lose, no memories or allegiances, impossible to threaten. It’s my job to figure out how to bribe one.

[kaipassedgo]

every day i wake up and am mad at the end of steves storyline and the full and complete lack of people who GET IT

[notaplaceofhonour]

Not At Odds

Ceasefire Now + Bring Them Home Now

Jewish & Palestinian safety & freedom are not at odds with each other; they are interconnected. These things can must coexist.