#the fact that it feels like something out of a story book

[comfxrtablykai]

The Art of Staying

a bucky barnes x fem!ex-hydra!reader story

Warnings: kissing, drinking, bucky calling you doll (it's a warning), no use of Y/N.

Summery: James Buchanan Barnes and you had known each other for a few years now. They were both HYDRA's minions at some point in their life which they had bonded over, but he couldn't really decipher her. Not until now, when she gave him an answer on how to.

────୨ৎ────

Maybe it was the number drinks he had, maybe it was the fact that you were wearing a cropped camisole that barely covered your perfect chest and body.

Maybe it was the fact you were sitting in the outdoor part of the bar, looking at the sea, nursing a beer instead of partying with the other Avengers. To him you looked like a dream, like something out of a 90s movie. Your hair blew lightly from the sea breeze, framing your face in a halo.

Maybe it was the fact that Bucky had finally grown a pair but he made his way outside towards you.

He stood besides you leaning against the rails, not saying anything and looking at the girl who had become his favourite headache in the few years he'd known you. "Hey, doll."

"Hey, sergeant." You spoke in that drunken drawl, your voice wrapping around the title like a slow drag of honey.

Your hair was a bit messy in the best way possible. Your lips were glossy and when you looked at him with those eyes... oh, those beautiful eyes.

You looked at him with a half lidded gaze. When his eyes looked into yours, his breath hitched. They had a longing and sadness in them he couldn't understand. You looked at him like you knew him, like you could read him like an open book and yet, he didn't know you. You still had an air of mystery to you he couldn't figure out. Ever.

He spoke his next words before he could properly think them through, "who is the real you?" Her eyes hesitated for a second before turning back to the sea, your jaw clenched.

"I don't know." You said glumly, but despite your tone your body was relaxed as if you'd made peace with the fact you didn't truly know who you were. "I still haven't figured it yet after..." you gulped and took a sip of your beer to calm your nerves. "But who I am, it makes people not wanna stick around."

He clenched his jaw and looked down in anger towards the people who had dared to leave you. No one should be left alone, he knew the feeling all too well.

But when he looked back into your eyes, for the first time he found himself understanding the longing in them. Not fully, not yet completely but enough to know he'd stripped of a layer of that mystery.

You sighed and your lips curved up slightly in a mischievous manner, which after seeing made his anger simmer down. He scoffed and shook his head with a smile.

Such a complicated, stubborn thing.

You got up from your seat, assuming the conversation was over. Your hand on the railing to balance you. But Bucky tucked a strand of stray hair behind your ear, surprising you.

"Guess I'll to do something scary," he breathed out softly with a smile. His fingers brushed against your cheek. Your skin was so soft, he wanted to keep his hand there forever. His fingers hesitantly rest at the side of your neck, his thumb brushed against your skin and his palm cupped your cheek, "and stick around."

You looked up at him with vulnerability. You tried to walk away but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him, not letting you deflect him like you usually did.

He looked at you like you were an angel and you looked at him like he was your saviour.

You hadn't realised how close you both had gotten until your eyes moved down to his lips. His eyes did the same, it was only for a second when he had looked at those pretty lips of yours, but he was a goner.

He pressed his lips against yours tentatively.

Testing

Tasting

Feeling.

You tasted like your sweet beer which you had been drinking and something else which he was damn sure was ambrosia. But most importantly you tasted like everything he's ever wanted.

The kiss became more desperate, and before you both knew it, you had lost control. Your lips moved against his in an intense rhythm. Your hands travelled up his chest, feeling the ridges of his abs. He was a wall of muscle and he felt warm under your hands.

His hands trailed down your back to your thighs, his calloused hands squeezing the flesh before he gripped your hips and pulled you closer.

You let out a little whimper and softly nipped at his bottom lip, making him grunt, your tongue brushing against his.

You slowly pulled away, taking a deep breath as you looked into his blue eyes. "James..." you said breathily.

He looked at you with an adoring gaze and he had a content smile on his face. He bit his lip as he looked at you like held the whole galaxy in the palm of your hand. He pressed his lips against yours again one last time in a small peck.

He pressed his forehead against yours and whispered, "I'm gonna stick around doll." And you couldn't help but let out a little giggle.

[flightfoot]

About Lila's lies, perhaps i'm the only one that thinks this but i feel a lot of her lies aren't as bad as a lot of people claim. Like a majority of the class (especially Marinette) have a few outlandish achievements or facts that sound like massive lies themselves, so it makes sense that they wouldn't doubt Lila when she claimed the same.

Oh, AGREED. Here's a list of her bragging-type and I-need-help-type lies.

Lila: You know I actually happen to be very close friends with Ladybug.

I mean, it's not absurd that she might be Ladybug's friend. "Close friends" might be up for interpretation, but this really isn't crazy. Especially since it's actually true for Alya.

Rose: Can you believe Lila knows Prince Ali? She even flew in his private jet with him!

Rose knows Prince Ali. I don't know why she's even impressed by this. I wouldn't even find it weird if she flew with him on his private jet.

Chloé: Why did Jagged Stone write a song about Lila when he could've written it about me?

I mean he wrote a song about Marinette unknowingly, he even wrote a song rubbing it in Anarka's face that he was ditching her and the twins. I don't actually think it'd be that weird for him to write a song about Lila, if she impressed him.

Nino: Lila knows all of the Hollywood directors. She promised she'd mention me to Steven Basielberg himself!

Lila's story is that her mom's a diplomat, and that DOES appear to be the case for one of them. So I wouldn't be surprised if she ran into a bunch of hollywood directors at some fancy party or something, like Gabriel hosts.

Lila:(stopping him from grabbing the book) Of course she's in your book. She's one of the most important superheroes. More powerful and more celebrated than Ladybug. (Marinette is angered by the comment) Between you and me Ladybug doesn't even make the top ten. (Marinette bites down on the book) My grandma gave me this necklace.

Superheroes exist in this world, and have for a long time, so it's not that ridiculous. Though it WOULD be weird that Adrien had never heard of her if she was as celebrated as she claims. And it helps that the book confirms that there were a ton of superheroes around who Adrien never heard of before.

Lila: It's absolutely amazing! Prince Ali invited me and my parents to his gorgeous palace.

One of her moms is a diplomat, so this wouldn't be too out of place.

Lila: Oh, it's nothing much! During our world travels, my diplomat parents have helped me convince the leaders of several nations to agree to reduce world pollution. (Adrien shakes his head) And I'm very optimistic that the prince will jump on board.

Again, this really isn't that crazy. One of her moms DOES appear to be a diplomat, and this is the sort of thing diplomats do.

Lila: Yes, I suffer from tinnitus, a constant ringing in my left ear. I've had it ever since the sound of an airplane engine burst my eardrum on the runaway when I was saving Jagged Stone's lost kitten.

The class has interacted with Jagged Stone several times, so it's not that weird that Lila might have as well. Heck, Marinette is his go-to designer for his album covers. And Jagged IS the type to be this careless with a kitten.

Lila: Now it is, yes. But he had a kitten until he found out he was allergic to it.

This happens to a lot of people.

Lila: I'm sorry I can't carry my own tray. It's almost impossible with this sprained wrist.

Spraining wrists is typical, and it can be hard to carry weight when this happens, especially at certain angles.

Lila: (drops napkin) Uh, ow! Once when I was in India, I witnessed someone getting their eye gouged out by the corner of a napkin. If I hadn't caught it, this napkin could've injured Max. I didn't have a choice. Ow!

This is the only lie I've seen Lila tell that isn't really feasible. No way that someone's eye got gouged out this way. That being said, it could still cause some damage if it hit the eye and the eye wasn't protected by an eyelid or glasses. Which Max's eyes are, but it makes sense that she wouldn't have had time to think about that in the half a second she had to react.

Lila: Adrien, we'll have to figure when you're gonna help me catch up on all the schoolwork I missed. I also heard you play piano, my uncle's the great pianist Chuch Boroughchuck. He wanted to teach me when I was little, but I had to stop playing because of arthritis. But when my wrist gets better, I'd love for you to give me some lessons.

I knew someone with childhood arthritis, and her having an uncle who's a great pianist isn't any more absurd than Marinette having a great-uncle who's a world-famous chef.

Lila: Oh, I'd love to test your video game, Max, but I promised Prince Ali we'd go on a charity cruise over the Seine on his yacht this afternoon. Sorry.

This just falls under the same category as Lila's earlier lies about knowing Prince Ali and helping to promote charitable causes with him. Which Rose also does, she just doesn't travel with him. Makes sense that Lila might though, since one of her moms is a diplomat.

I'm having trouble thinking of other lies Lila told of this sort of type after this, since she was able to tell the truth mostly, what with being a model for Gabriel.

So yeah. Most of these lies are very plausible, and are way less weird than the Miracuclass's general experiences. The absurd thing is that they're impressed, not that they buy it.

[mercars-musings]

Breaking In

Fandom: Dragon Age - The Veilguard

Pairing- Lace Harding & Taash

TW- depicted: anxiety, grief, flirting and some "immodest" touching ; mentioned: major character death, sexual acts ; genre: silly, fluff.

Description-

This is a short, silly & fluffy piece I wrote of Harding and Rook getting up to shenanegans when Lace tries to break into Taash's bedroom to stage a surprise!

Done as part of a Rook Story Prompt Ask Game on Tumblr! {This Ask Game Prompt was: 38. SD!Rook breaking in somewhere to acquire vital information.}

Ask Game Here PS. @hyperions-light Ask prompt 9 is also coming at some point in the next weekish! And @ofcrowsanddragons your fic is coming too just a little bit after ! Sorry to you both for the delay, my brain has been mush lmfao <3 /gen

Word count- 2.6k

Read on AO3: Here!

~ MAJOR SPOILERS FOR VEILGUARD BELOW ~

Lace Harding always loved finding little ways to make her partner smile, whether it was with a date or a surprise gift, she always strove to delight Taash whenever possible.

Her most recent attempt came about after she had read one of Rook's… spicier book recommendations and found a particularly risque outfit that she thought Taash would get a kick out of.

Getting the outfit should have been easy enough: all she had to do was grab some excess materials from Taash's bedroom when they were away & try the outfit out in time for their return, simple enough right?

Well, the fact that Lace had just spent the better half of an hour fighting the lock on Taash's bedroom door would beg to differ.

She would have just employed her usual method of finding a sturdy enough rock to hit the lock into submission with, but, she'd feel awful breaking something of Taash's. Even something as inconsequential and easily replaceable as a pad lock.

After a few more moments of prodding the lock, Harding bit down her pride and finally accepted that she would need to ask for help.

Maybe she could ask her fellow rogue? No, Lucanis had gone out a few hours ago, probably somewhere he could brood at Neve over coffee since she was nowhere to be seen either.

Davrin & Bellara had joined Taash on their trip to the Hall of Valour, so both of them were definitely off the table for this particular antic.

Emmrich definitely wouldn't join her heist & even if he could be persuaded, judging by the lack of giggling coming from Rook's room he probably wasn't even arou-

Wait- Rook!

Hm, Rook…

Things had been a little strange between the pair since Varric. It wasn't anything malicious, or actually damaging just- Az never really spoke about their mutual friends passing.

Lace originally just assumed it was because of his tendency to avoid talking about his personal problems like the blight. That if given long enough, he would eventually open up & finally speak to her about it, but… it had been almost a year & he still hadn't even broached the topic with Harding.

Maybe she had overestimated their friendship, maybe he didn't feel as close to her as she did him, or… maybe his discomfort talking about it was her fault.

She hadn't exactly reached out to him about it much either. She had kind of spent a large portion of the last several months stressing out about her new powers & what it meant for not only her but the Dwarven people as a whole.

If she was really honest with herself, she kind of just word-vomited a lot of that stress & anxiety at Az whenever he would check in on her. Which, probably didn't help him feel like there was much space to actually talk about Varric since so much was going on & the one other person who could get it just… wasn't very available.

Maybe some silly antics were exactly what was needed right now. Maybe, if they were able to do silly shit together again, even if it was only for a little while, it would help them re-bond a little bit? Possibly even start to re-bridge that gap so Az could feel comfortable talking to her again?

Well, it certainly couldn't hurt.

Lace rounded the corner to Rook's room, raising her hand to knock before an unexpected noise caught her attention. It was the quiet hum of music, which wouldn't have been too much of a surprise if Rook wasn't the absolute worst at trying to play literally every instrument she had seen him try.

The music continued through the door, muffled in a way that seemed like it was being kept just quiet enough to not catch any suspecting passerby's attention. However, luckily for Lace, it was still loud enough that it couldn't quite sneak by a scout.

Harding was never good at keeping her nose out of something that interested her and it certainly got her in trouble more times than she would like to admit. It made her a great scout though, few things could get past her or in her way when she was trying to find someone or something, well, except for a lock apparently.

Curiosity got the better of her as usual and instead of knocking she found herself slowly pushing the door open as to better assess the situation without immediately alarming her friend of her snooping.

When the door opened, she was greeted by the familiar smell of Lavender & Oak-moss incense. It had become Rooks favourite since he'd met Emmrich, wouldn't stop going on about how when mixed it smelt like nights with Emmrich.

Bleh.

Despite this immediate reaction, Lace really was happy for her friend, but it was also extremely foreign seeing Rook be so lovey dovey all of a sudden.

When she met him, & throughout most of their year chasing Solas, he seemed to be fully submerged in his whole "I'm allergic to love actually, so never mention it in my vicinity again or I will throw myself into the Minrathous Docks" thing.

So to see that change so fast was nice but… weirdly concerning at the same time.

Her friend was in mourning {& clearly not handling it very well}, then all of a sudden he's throwing himself into the arms of a much older man that has so much more public respect & accreditation than Rook had. It felt almost like… well she wasn't sure what it felt like but she definitely knew her gut was telling her to be weary.

She didn't want Az to get hurt anymore than he already had been.

Before she could continue mulling over the strange change in her friend, Harding's train of thought was disrupted by the strange sound that had grabbed her attention just moments prior: the unusual hum of a quiet melody that danced throughout the aquarium.

The melancholy notes that twisted through the air seemed to be coming from a projection of a lute, which was definitely an unexpected sight.

She didn't exactly doubt it was possible for someone to create a musical projection, if anything it would be weird if someone hadn't at least figured that out by now. What was weird though, is that in all her travels with Rook it seemed like he rarely used his magic outside of fighting. So it really was a surprise to see him messing around with it now, in his spare time.

This combined with the fact that Az seemed to be laying almost lazily on his couch, twirling his ankle to the tune of the music, little clicking sounds ringing out from the joint as he did… it seemed almost domestic? Like Rook had actually let himself just relax, which isn't something Harding was used to seeing but… it was nice in a way.

One particularly loud ankle pop seemed to knock her fully out of her thoughts, finally reminding her to actually announce her presence.

"Hey, Rook."

The almost calming projection & tune disappeared almost as instantly as Az shot up from where he was relaxing, his eyes wide as they met Harding's.

"Sorry," she laughed, taking in the rare site of a bewildered Rook.

"Fuckin' Hell Harding," the Qunari breathed, placing a hand on his chest. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Not yet, kinda don't want to find out what an angry Emmrich's like." She joked.

Rook laughed at that, shaking his head slightly as he swung his legs off the side of his couch.

"I don't know, seeing a Mini Titan versus a Seasoned Necromancer? Seems like it would be a fun show."

Lace rolled her eyes at that, swinging her hip to the side slightly as she smirked.

"Yeah, till you have to deal with an angry Taash."

"Point taken," Az raised to his feet, turning to face the dwarf with a raised eyebrow. "So, whose dying now?"

"Nobody," she snorted.

"Promise? It's meant to be my day off y'know?" The mage joked back, raising his hands to meet the sides of his hips in his usual stance.

"Yeah, well… does my pride count?"

Rook's eyebrows furrowed at this, prompting Lace to continue.

"I'm trying to surprise Taash…"

"Okay…?"

"But, their bedroom doors locked & I'm not exactly lock picker Harding…" she admitted sheepishly.

"Yeah… I could have told you that after the fifth chest we had to open via cliff drop." Rook teased, pausing momentarily as the rest of Harding's words sunk in. "Wait, why do you need to get into their room?"

"For… vital information?"

Rook stared for a few seconds, eyebrows knitting together even tighter in an unconvinced stare as his head tilted slightly to the side.

"Okay, okay. Maker, you're so nosy…" Harding sighed, before continuing her answer in a quiet murmur, "I need to get a hold of a spare Dar-Saam."

"Dar-Saam?" The man responded, confusion lacing his words. "What do you want with a Dar-Saam?"

"A… thing." Lace mumbled, clearly running out of excuses & just desperate to avoid the conversation.

"Okay…" Az mercifully relented, "well, you don't need to break into Taash's room for that anyway. You can just borrow a spare one of mine."

"Wait, you wear a Dar-Saam?" Harding questioned, shooting the man a surprised look.

"Yeah," he responded matter-of-factly, pointing to his waist.

Harding's eyes shifted to where Rook's pointer finger was and then slowly adjusted to the minor difference in tones & texture along his micro-corset. There was Dar-Saam woven into the red cloth in such a way that most wouldn't really notice if they weren't looking for it.

"Huh… well thanks for the offer but um," Lace momentarily hesitated, "I don't think you'll want it back after...?"

Rook tilts his head to the side, uncertainty etched back into his features.

"Rook…" Lace sighs deeply as she rubs her forehead, "look there was this thing I read in that book you gave me-"

"The book I-?" Az stopped mid sentence as realisation set in and he threw his hands up defensively. "Oh- Maker- stop! PLEASE- forget I asked… let's just go break into Taash's room so I can get back to my rest day."

Harding held back a laugh, glad to know that her friend now found this just as unbearable of a conversation as she did & nodded.

The duo found themselves outside of Taash's room no more than five minutes later, Az kneeling in the exact same position Lace had been in less than 30 minutes ago as he assessed the pad lock.

"So, what kind of lock picking stuff does a mage use?" Lace questioned, "Oh is it like bolts of magic that move with the pins or something?"

"Uh… something like that," Az murmured, pulling a small, metallic item out of his pocket and raising it to the lock. The Qunari made a quick movement with his hands, before a click noise is heard.

"Woah, that was fast!" Harding laughed out in surprise.

"Hm? Oh yeah, this probably helped." Az retorted as he brought the piece of metal he had been handling into view.

It was a key.

"Wait, you had a key this whole time? Why did you make me say all of-!?" Harding stopped herself from getting too annoyed and simply huffed indignantly, earning a chuckle from Az.

"C'mon, you've got that 'vital information' to get. Or do you want Taash to find you sneaking into their room?" Az teased, standing back up before pushing Taash's door open slightly.

She wanted to complain, but she had a feeling their time in Taash's room would be limited, so instead she just rolled her eyes & stepped through the doorway, freezing in her tracks when she came face to face with her partner.

"Lace?" Taash asked in a mixture of confusion & slight frustration.

"T-Taash!" Harding choked out, before glancing over at Rook who just shrugged. "It's not what it looks like?"

"So, you aren't breaking into my room right now?" The warrior asked, eyebrow raised in suspicion.

"No- well, yes I uh…" Harding stumbled over her words unsure how she would be able to get her way out of this one. She was not the talker, Varric was - Az was.

"She wanted to surprise you, with some gay shit." Rook interrupted, a joking tone in his voice that had Harding mentally vowing to shoot him in the ass next time they're in a skirmish.

"Of course you'd help her break in here." Taash commented as they rolled their eyes. After a few seconds, they turned back to Lace, curiosity now lacing their tone, "A surprise?"

"Yeah... I- wait why are you here?" Lace asked, realisation dawning on her that she isn't the only one somewhere they're not supposed to be right now.

A light blush slowly suddenly began to crawl up Taash's neck and onto their cheeks as the question lingered unanswered for a few moments. The silence only being broken by a fake cough that Taash pushed out in an attempt to mask their embarrassment.

"No reason."

"So, this is all… what?" Az questioned from the doorway, gesturing lazily towards something just behind Taash.

Following the gesture, Laces eyes panned over to just behind Taash, a tiny gasp catching in the back of her throat as she was met with a truly unexpected scene.

Behind Taash was a blanket fort similar to that of Harding's in the middle of the room, fairy lights on the roof of the fort and all.

Placed throughout & around the fort were also an array of goodies: a platter of different Fereldan cheeses, bread & wine on one side; a small plant that Harding hadn't seen before on the other; and a surprising amount of extremely plush looking cushions scattered throughout.

Taash glanced back momentarily as if they just remembered how not hidden the fort was, then turned back to the pair of intruders with a groan as they crossed their arms.

"Fine." They huffed, "You've been really stressed out lately and I… wanted to do something nice."

"You did this for me?" Lace asked, her voice almost a whisper as tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

"Y-yeah." Taash faltered slightly, clearing their throat as they glanced away again. "C'mon don't make it weird…"

"This is the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me!" Lace giggled, her mind suddenly drawn away from her earlier plans by the sweet surprise.

"Well, that's Vashedan, you deserve better than-" Taash started, cut off by Harding crashing into their side in a tight hug. Placing their hand in her hair Taash ruffled it slightly as they let out a quiet laugh, which earned a contented sight from the Dwarf.

"Well, my job is done." Rook interrupted, pushing himself off the door frame.

"Wait," Taash called, "Neither of you have told me why you both broke in yet."

"Oh," Lace murmured, pulling herself away from her partner as a embarrassed giggle escaped her. "I uh… I read there was this thing you could do with Dar-Saam, but I kind of needed to test it before you got back…"

"Oh?" Taash's voice suddenly dropped an octave lower as they spoke.

Taash's hand snaked its way to Lace's hip where it tightened around the curve of her waist slightly. This pulled a small gasp from Harding's throat as they pulled her closer to them, letting out a low growl.

"Ugh, maker- you two could at least wait till I leave!" Rook groaned in a mixture of fear and disgust before quickly turning to escape through the doorway. Leaving both Lace & Taash to laugh slightly before they…. continued.

[folkdances]

things i read this january ❄️ it was an interesting, eventful month, and a very philosophical one (for me, at least)! i've been reading on the bus, on the metro, while walking to class, and i'm pleased with myself for it, and it's done me good! i wanted to write this preface in such a way that would lend it some sense of grandeur, but as i sit here typing, i don't think that's really necessary. things are as they are. some of these are for class and some of them i read on my own…!

articles, essays, and papers

preface to lyrical ballads, william wordsworth

preface and conclusion to the renaissance studies in art and poetry, walter pater

poetry and plays*

we are seven, william wordsworth

mac flecknoe, john dryden

a satyr upon reason and mankind, john wilt

the country wife, william wycherley - found this one shockingly funny and was deeply upset by this fact. there’s something about a character named pinchwife getting cuckolded that has been making people laugh for centuries, and the latest of those people is me.

myself and pangur, anon., trans. paul muldoon

the blackbird by belfast lough, frank o'connor

the vikings, james carney

the scribe in the woods, máire macneill - he’s just like me for realll

the sea, james carney

storm at sea, frank o'connor

to an old psalm-book, james carney

books

private rites, julia armfield - I REALLY ADORED THIS ONE. 5-stars will be returning to it. absolutely phenomenal vaguely apocalyptic horror story set in a drowning world and following three estranged sisters in the wake of their cruel father’s death.

file under: 13 suspicious incidents, lemony snicket - really really charming! i’ve been wanting to reread atwq and realized i never read this addendum to the series when i was a kid :-)

annihilation, jeff vandermeer - shockingly i tried reading this one, like, three times before this month (the last time was two years ago(?)) and i could never properly get into it. this time around i tore through it and absolutely loved it…! sci-fi story about a biologist and her team as they explore the mysterious area x on the behalf of a secretive government agency.

song of solomon, toni morrison - i’d been putting off reading this one for a while, not out of disinterest but because it is such a weighty book and i wanted to wait for a good time. i read it over the course of a week. it’s wonderfully written, compulsively readable, profound and inquisitive and odyssic. absolutely loved it. unravels the family history of the dead family, honing in the youngest sun, milkman dead.

waiting for the barbarians, j.m. coetzee - had to read this one for class and i’m a bit conflicted about it. ultimately i think it works as a very concise and clear analogy, but i found it a bit ‘white guilt’ about the whole affair.

open water, caleb azumah nelson - unfortunately did not enjoy this one very much :-( heard a lot of good things about it and it just wasn’t for me in the end. a love story between two young black british artists.

martyr!, kaveh akbar - was looking forward to this one and really enjoyed it! i feel like it could have gone deeper but for what it was, i liked it. it was very poetic and i loved how it was structured. follows a suicidal iranian-american poet as he strives to write about martyrdom and plumbs his own family history in an effort to understand it.

* i tried finding links to all of these but i got lazy lol. you could probably find them quite easily snooping around the internet :-)

[fipindustries]

ooooh! ok on thing at a time

first, as for the artifacts of translating, a friend said something like that earlier

as for liliana booc herself, i remember her writing feeling incredibly poetical and evocative and colorful, although i dont remember any particular fancy tricks of language or strange uses of words, it was just the tone with which it descrived things that felt very reminiscent of old myths as you say, plus the strange and ancient things she was descriving. i do think the languge of the books gets more overwrought as the books go along

as for the strange word choces, that is all 100% me, i wanted to to as you said the old sci fi writers did, i wanted to invoke some distance, this character is man a little bit to the left, a human not raised in our evolutionary tree so they have a different understanding of things

as for the premise itself this was purely a game of curiosity, it was me earnestly exploring what such a strange thing would look like, without any pre judgement or opinions in mind beyond the idea that it was a fascinating proposition. because of this i commite myself to biting whatever necessary implications would arise from this without me wanting to guide it to any particular message or point.

for example, the fact that females are larger and stronger in this world is due to the fact that human women can only handle pregnancy (without the help of modern technology and infrastructures) by virtue of the support they get from the people around them. so a female that needs to carry a pregnancy all on her own on this world would need to be larger and tougher. this is also compounded by the fact that in this world humans are born like animals do, in the sense that they are capable of walking and moving around and manipulating the world a day after being born, which implies a larger gestation time, which again, implies the female having a bigger stronger body to be able to carry this out.

i think the criticism regarding the "fight scene" is perfectly fair.

now for a little more context, i wrote this story im pretty sure somewhere around 2014-2015 so, regarding your comment of "getting to meet a new angle of the amandonian monument", is funny you say that because you sort of didnt, this was written by the mandy of ten years ago, back when i wasnt calling my self mandy, back when that wasnt even a possibility to consider, and it wouldnt be for 4 more years. my sense of self has been shattered too many times in the interim, in many ways i would say that person doesnt exist anymore.

i almost kind of feel guilty posting their work and claiming it as my own.

i posted a new short story in AO3

HOMO SOLUS a quick exploration of an alternative world where humans evolved to be solitary animals (like bears or tigers) instead of a social species.

for some reason tumblr is not letting me post the link right now, so you will have to follow it manually, right here!

[liquidstar]

a friend who'd wait :)

[rosicheeks]

Unfortunately relatable. I grew up in the church and have a lot of Christian trauma from that. I show up for special occasions for my parents… sometimes. But it’s uncomfortable from the moment I step through the door. Bigoted pastor, the self-righteousness disguising the prejudice, the political comments from the altar. Shots at young people left right and center as if the hell on earth wasn’t caused by the same older generation 90% of the congregation belongs to..

I miss being young in the choir and the youth groups and not struggling with it. It’s wild to look back at the younger version of me who was unshakeable in his faith and honestly just saddening.

I was texting my sister today about it and she said

“I 100% think ALL of us have a ton of religious trauma and everyone else in the family just doesn’t realize it cause they’re still drinking the kool-aid.”

I ran out of tag room and didn’t want to delete any 😭 seriously not lying I could write a book about all my thoughts and experiences

[kareenvorbarra]

read the beginning of a popular book out of curiosity and something happened in the first few pages that made me realize it might be least For Me book ever written

[sorcerersandskillusers]

Breathtaking, just truly breathtaking

Draw This In Your Style

We recently reached 1k on Instagram so this dtiys was made for the occasion. Since we also reached 3k on Tumblr at the same time, I figured it could be used here as well!

It's pretty simple (well not the actual artwork, good luck with that part) you don't have any time limit and it isn't a contest either. So just do it if you'd like to have fun.

If you do try it, do tag me! Or else I probably won't see it.

Oh and some wips of it to look at, because why not

[taexual]

I'm so in love with this couple holy crap, you're truly one of the greatest writers I have seen so far

I really can't get enough of this, I adoooore this series, and their story, the characters, your writing as a whole and omg I could keep going for hourssss (but srs, I can, if you're not uncomfortable with receiving praise, I gladly will pull out the list of some of my favorite moments and phrases so far, just say the word)

it's like 🥺 they are my babies, born, raised, polished, and released into the world 🥺 and you tell me you're welcoming them with as much love as i am 🥺 i love you so much 🥺

tell me everything, my love, i will cherish it my whole life 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[sluttish-armchair]

Me: “I’m going to stop procrastinating and read The Invisible Man this weekend.”

Me, not even a day later: “Hehehehe Fahrenheit 451 go BRRRRRRR”

[neverendingford]

.

[gibbearish]

ok i finished the first chapter and am gonna take a break now but im v excited to keep reading im really liking the way the author looks at things so far

[autistichalsin]

In retrospect, four years later, I feel like the Isabel Fall incident was just the biggest ignored cautionary tale modern fandom spaces have ever had. Yes, it wasn't limited to fandom, it was also a professional author/booktok type argument, but it had a lot of crossover.

Stop me if you've heard this one before: a writer, whether fan or pro, publishes a work. If one were to judge a book by its cover, something we are all taught in Kindergarten shouldn't happen but has a way of occurring regardless, one might find that there was something that seemed deeply problematic about this work. Maybe the title or summary alluded to something Wrong happening, or maybe the tags indicated there was problematic kinks or relationships. And that meant the story was Bad. So, a group of people takes to the Twittersphere to inform everyone who will listen why the work, and therefore the author, are Bad. The author, receiving an avalanche of abuse and harassment, deactivates their account, and checks into a mental health facility for monitoring for suicidal ideation. They never return to their writing space, and the harassers get a slap on the wrist (if that- usually they get praise and high-fives all around) and start waiting for their next victim to transgress.

Sounds awful familiar, doesn't it?

Isabel Fall's case, though, was even more extreme for many reasons. See, she made the terrible mistake of using a transphobic meme as the genesis to actually explore issues of gender identity.

More specifically, she used the phrase "I sexually identify as an attack helicopter" to examine how marginalized identities, when they become more accepted, become nothing more than a tool for the military-industrial complex to rebrand itself as a more personable and inclusive atrocity; a chance to pursue praise for bombing brown children while being progressive, because queer people, too, can help blow up brown children now! It also contained an examination of identity and how queerness is intrinsic to a person, etc.

But... well, if harassers ever bothered to read the things they critique, we wouldn't be here, would we? So instead, they called Isabel a transphobic monster for the title alone, even starting a misinformation campaign to claim she was, in fact, a cis male nazi using a fake identity to psyop the queer community.

A few days later, after days of horrific abuse and harassment, Isabel requested that Clarkesworld magazine pull the story. She checked in to a psych ward with suicidal thoughts. That wasn't all, though; the harassment was so bad that she was forced to out herself as trans to defend against the claims.

Only... we know this type of person, the fandom harassers, don't we? You know where this is going. Outing herself did nothing to stop the harassment. No one was willing to read the book, much less examine how her sexuality and gender might have influenced her when writing it.

So some time later, Isabel deleted her social media. She is still alive, but "Isabel Fall" is not- because the harassment was so bad that Isabel detransitioned/closeted herself, too traumatized to continue living her authentic life.

Supposed trans allies were so outraged at a fictional portrayal of transness, written by a trans woman, that they harassed a real life trans woman into detransitioning.

It's heartbreakingly familiar, isn't it? Many of us in fandom communities have been in Isabel's shoes, even if the outcome wasn't so extreme (or in some cases, when it truly was). Most especially, many of us, as marginalized writers speaking from our own experiences in some way, have found that others did not enjoy our framework for examining these things, and hurt us, members of those identities, in defense of "the community" as a nebulous undefined entity.

There's a quote that was posted in a news writeup about the whole saga that was published a year after the fact. The quote is:

The delineation between paranoid and reparative readings originated in 1995, with influential critic Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick. A paranoid reading focuses on what’s wrong or problematic about a work of art. A reparative reading seeks out what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art, even if the work is flawed. Importantly, a reparative reading also tends to consider what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art for someone who isn’t the reader. This kind of nuance gets completely worn away on Twitter, home of paranoid readings. “[You might tweet], ‘Well, they didn’t discuss X, Y, or Z, so that’s bad!’ Or, ‘They didn’t’ — in this case — ‘discuss transness in a way that felt like what I feel about transness, therefore it is bad.’ That flattens everything into this very individual, very hostile way of reading,” Mandelo says. “Part of reparative reading is trying to think about how a story cannot do everything. Nothing can do everything. If you’re reading every text, fiction, or criticism looking for it to tick a bunch of boxes — like if it represents X, Y, and Z appropriately to my definitions of appropriate, and if it’s missing any of those things, it’s not good — you’re not really seeing the close focus that it has on something else.”

A paranoid reading describes perfectly what fandom culture has become in the modern times. It is why "proship", once simply a word for common sense "don't engage with what you don't like, and don't harass people who create it either" philosophies, has become the boogeyman of fandom, a bad and dangerous word. The days of reparative readings, where you would look for things you enjoyed, are all but dead. Fiction is rarely a chance to feel joy; it's an excuse to get angry, to vitriolically attack those different from oneself while surrounded with those who are the same as oneself. It's an excuse to form in-groups and out-groups that must necessarily be in a constant state of conflict, lest it come across like This side is accepting That side's faults. In other words, fandom has become the exact sort of space as the nonfandom spaces it used to seek to define itself against.

It's not about joy. It's not about resonance with plot or characters. It's about hate. It's about finding fault. If they can't find any in the story, they will, rest assured, create it by instigating fan wars- dividing fandom into factions and mercilessly attacking the other.

And that's if they even went so far as to read the work they're critiquing. The ones they don't bother to read, as you saw above, fare even worse. If an AO3 writer tagged an abuser/victim ship, it's bad, it's fetishism, even if the story is about how the victim escapes. If a trans writer uses the title "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter" to find a framework to dissect rainbow-washing the military-industrial complex, it's unforgivable. It's a cesspool of kneejerk reactions, moralizing discomfort, treating good/evil as dichotomous categories that can never be escaped, and using that complex as an excuse to heap harassment on people who "deserve it." Because once you are Bad, there is no action against you that is too Bad for you to deserve.

Isabel Fall's story follows this so step-by-step that it's like a textbook case study on modern fandom behavior.

Isabel Fall wrote a short story with an inflammatory title, with a genesis in transphobic mockery, in the hopes of turning it into a genuine treatise on the intersection of gender and sexuality and the military-industrial complex. But because audiences are unprepared for the idea of inflammatory rhetoric as a tool to force discomfort to then force deeper introspection... they zeroed in on the discomfort. "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter"- the title phrase, not the work- made them uncomfortable. We no longer teach people how to handle discomfort; we live in a world of euphemism and glossing over, a world where people can't even type out the words "kill" and rape", instead substituting "unalive" and "grape." We don't deal with uncomfortable feelings anymore; we censor them, we transform them, we sanitize them. When you are unable to process discomfort, when you are never given self-soothing tools, your only possible conclusion is that anything Uncomfortable must be Bad, and the creator must either be censored too, or attacked into conformity so that you never again experience the horrors of being Uncomfortable.

So the masses took to Twitter, outraged. They were Uncomfortable, and that de facto meant that they had been Wronged. Because the content was related to trans identity issues, that became the accusation; it was transphobic, inherently. It couldn't be a critique of bigger and more fluid systems than gender identity alone; it was a slight against trans people. And no amount of explanations would change their minds now, because they had already been aggrieved and made to feel Uncomfortable.

Isabel Fall was now a Bad Person, and we all know what fandom spaces do to Bad People. Bad People, because they are Bad, will always be deserving of suicide bait and namecalling and threatening. Once a person is Bad, there is no way to ever become Good again. Not by refuting the accusations (because the accusations are now self-evident facts; "there is a callout thread against them" is its own tautological proof that wrongdoing has happened regardless of the veracity of the claims in the callout) and not by apologizing and changing, because if you apologize and admit you did the Bad thing, you are still Bad, and no matter what you do in future, you were once Bad and that needs to be brought up every time you are mentioned. If you are bad, you can NEVER be more than what you were at your worst (in their definition) moment. Your are now ontologically evil, and there is no action taken against you that can be immoral.

So Isabel was doomed, naturally. It didn't matter that she outed herself to explain that she personally had lived the experience of a trans woman and could speak with authority on the atrocity of rainbow-washing the military industrial complex as a proaganda tool to capture progressives. None of it mattered. She had written a work with an Uncomfortable phrase for a title, the readers were Uncomfortable, and someone had to pay for it.

And that's the key; pay for it. Punishment. Revenge. It's never about correcting behavior. Restorative justice is not in this group's vocabulary. You will, incidentally, never find one of these folks have a stance against the death penalty; if you did Bad as a verb, you are Bad as an intrinsic, inescapable adjective, and what can you do to incorrigible people but kill them to save the Normal people? This is the same principle, on a smaller scale, that underscores their fandom activities; if a Bad fan writes Bad fiction, they are a Bad person, and their fandom persona needs to die to save Normal fans the pain of feeling Uncomfortable.

And that's what happened to Isabel Fall. The person who wrote the short story is very much alive, but the pseudonym of Isabel Fall, the identity, the lived experiences coming together in concert with imagination to form a speculative work to critique deeply problematic sociopolitical structures? That is dead. Isabel Fall will never write again, even if by some miracle the person who once used the name does. Even if she ever decides to restart her transition, she will be permanently scarred by this experience, and will never again be able to share her experience with us as a way to grow our own empathy and challenge our understanding of the world. In spirit, but not body, fandom spaces murdered Isabel Fall.

And that's... fandom, anymore. That's just what is done, routinely and without question, to Bad people. Good people are Good, so they don't make mistakes, and they never go too far when dealing with Bad people. And Bad people, well, they should have thought before they did something Bad which made them Bad people.

Isabel Fall's harassment happened in early 2020, before quarantine started, but it was in so many ways a final chance for fandom to hit the breaks. A chance for fandom to think collectively about what it wanted to be, who it wanted to be for and how it wanted to do it. And fandom looked at this and said, "more, please." It continues to harass marginalized people, especially fans of color and queen fans, into suffering mental breakdowns. With gusto.

Any ideas of reparative reading is dead. Fandom runs solely on paranoid readings. And so too is restorative justice gone for fandom transgressions, real or imagined. It is now solely about punitive, vigilante justice. It's a concerted campaign to make sure oddballs conform or die (in spirit, but sometimes even physically given how often mentally ill individuals are pushed into committing suicide).

It's a deeply toxic environment and I'm sad to say that Isabel Fall's story was, in retrospect, a sort of event horizon for the fandom. The gravitational pull of these harassment campaigns is entirely too strong now and there is no escaping it. I'm sorry, I hate to say something so bleak, but thinking the last few days about the state of fandom (not just my current one but also others I watch from the outside), I just don't think we can ever go back to peaceful "for joy" engagement, not when so many people are determined to use it as an outlet for lateral aggression against other people.

[iamthedukeofurl]

Discworld is an interesting beast in the age of ACAB. Like, the city watch books are a story about police and the way in which a good police force can help and protect people. Which would make it copoganda. And I'm not going to say that the City Watch books are completely free of copoganda, but they also do something interesting that fairly few stories about heroic police officers do, and I think it has a lot to do with Samuel Vimes. A lot of copoganda stories like, say, Brooklyn 99, are perfectly capable of portraying cops as cruel, bigoted, and greedy, but our central cast of characters are portrayed as good people who want to help their communities. The result is that the bad cops are portrayed as an aberration, while most cops can be assumed to be good people doing a tough job because they want to help protect people from the nebulous evil forces of "Crime". The police are considered to be naturally heroic. Pratchett does something very interesting, which is provide us with Vimes' perspective, and present us with an Unnaturally heroic police force. In Ahnk-Morpork, the natural state of the watch is a gang with extra paperwork. It's the place for people who, at best, just want a steady paycheck and at worst want an excuse to hit people with a truncheon. Rather than be an army defending people from the forces of Crime, the Watch is described as a sort of sleight-of-hand, big burly watchmen in shiny uniforms don't stand around in-case a Crime happens in their vicinity, they stand around to remind people that The Law exists and has teeth. The Watchmen are people, when danger rears it's head, their instinct is to hide and get out of the way. When faced with authority, their instinct is to bow to it out of fear of what it might do to them if they don't. Carrot is a genuine Hero, but his natural heroism is presented as an aberration. Normal Cops don't act like Carrot does. The fact that the Watch ends up acting like a Heroic Police Force is largely due to the leadership of Sam Vimes, but Vimes himself is a microcosm of the Watch. The base state of Sam Vimes would be an alchoholic bully of an officer, one who beats people until they confess to anything because that makes his job easier. Vimes The Hero is a homunculous, an artificial being created by Sam Vimes fighting back all those instincts and FORCING himself to behave as his conscience dictates. Vimes doesn't take bribes or let his officers do the same because, damnit, that sort of thing shouldn't happen, even if doing so would make things a lot easier. Vimes doesn't run towards sounds of screaming because he WANTS to, he forces himself to do so because somebody needs to. It's best summed up in Thud “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? Your Grace.” “I know that one,” said Vimes. “Who watches the watchmen? Me, Mr. Pessimal.” “Ah, but who watches you, Your Grace?” said the inspector with a brief little smile. “I do that, too. All the time,” said Vimes. “Believe me.”

In the hands of another writer, or another series, this exchange would be weirdly dismissive. To whom should the police be accountable to? Themselves, shut up and trust us. But from Vimes, it's a different story. Vimes DOES constantly watch himself, and he doesn't trust that bastard, he's known him his entire life. The Heroic Police are not a natural state, they're an ideal, and ahnk-morpork only gets anywhere close. Vimes is constantly struggling against his own instincts to take shortcuts, to let things slide, but he forces himself to live up to that ideal and the Watch follows his example. Discworld doesn't propose any solutions to the problems with policing in the real world. We don't have a Sam Vimes to run the NYPD and force them to behave. We don't have a Carrot Ironfounderson. But it's at least a story about detectives and police that I can read without feeling like I'm being sold propaganda about the Thin Blue Line.

[luveline]

Shy!reader and post prison Spence - the first time he calls her a pet name? I love that your Spencers always use “honey” or “dove” or “love” and we know she’d be a mess.

P.S. completely agree with how much I love the gentleness of your characters. The way you write Spencer in love is literally my favorite

ty for requesting <3 fem

“Are you sure it’s okay?” 

Spencer holds a hanging strap. You hold your own, core tense with the movement of the train. “I think I would’ve mentioned it before you got on the train if it weren’t.” 

You nod, glancing around the traincar at the other passengers. There's a stout lady wearing a large fluffy sweater, turquoise with two white kittens at her chest nuzzling one another in knit. A man with three bags of groceries sits just beside her. Further down, a teenage girl listens to music through leaking headphones, her phone reflecting blue light on her cheeks. 

“But are you sure I won’t be an imposition?” 

“You aren’t usually. I guess we won’t know until we get there.” 

“Maybe I should just find a hotel for the night.” 

“Y/N, I’m kidding. You’re not an imposition, it won’t be a problem. There’s enough room at my apartment for you to stay however long you want. Between all the books, that is.” 

It’s just not something you pictured asking him for. Your kitchen flooded in your apartment and the landlord had to put you up in a hotel until he could get someone in to make sure the stove wasn’t about to explode or catch light. But the idea of a hotel is rough torture —somewhere unfamiliar, living out of a suitcase, surrounded by people you don’t know without a door that locks properly. Spencer caught you sweating over it at your desk, pulling the story from you in reluctant drags with a hand on your shoulder. 

It’ll be okay, he said, you can just stay with me. 

Which is relieving and somehow a new can of worms to deal with. At least at a hotel there was no chance of seeing Spencer in a towel. Spencer seeing you in a towel, in your pyjamas, without your formal office protections. 

The worst part is the excitement. 

Terrified he’ll see it on your face, you stare at your shoes next to his. Spencer… Everyone told you he was a dork. When you joined the team in his absence, not once did you get the impression that the man who’d be coming back was like this. You feel like he’d been infantilised. Which isn’t to say he isn’t a dork, he is, he tells you the strangest things, facts or statistics to accompany each topic of the day, and he has all the manners and chivalry of someone who knows what it’s like to be as painfully shy as you are. But he isn’t shy. 

Autistic, he’d confided once. Probably. I’m better at dealing with it now. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“Nervous.” 

“I know.” He grasps your arm as the train screeches on tracks, turning a tight bend. You’re grateful, but immediately flushed with heat. 

“I don’t want to embarrass myself.” 

“You couldn’t. I think I know you too well already.”

“You’ve known me for less time than the rest of the team, but you were the first person to offer me a place to stay.” You clench the rickety handle of your suitcase. “Thank you.” 

“That’s okay, angel.” He says it simply and softly, like you really are an angel. Something breathless to wait with. 

Angel, you think, heart skipping a beat, pulse slow and then suddenly ramped. 

His arm slips behind your back. “I don’t want you to stay in a hotel if it’s going to scare you. Besides, it’ll be fun. Like a sleepover.” He laughs. And you, despite your flush, heat sinking across your chest like a bruise, manage to laugh back. “I’ve never had one before.” 

“What?” 

“Never had a sleepover. I didn’t have any friends in school, and I haven’t had a girlfriend stay the night before.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, expecting a retraction. Not that you’re my girlfriend, not that you’re anything like that at all. 

He smiles at you. “Should we get takeout?”

“What were you thinking?” 

“There’s an Indian restaurant between the station and my apartment? We can stop in. Or we can order something to come. Or I can cook, if you want home cooked.” 

“No, it’s fine, you don’t have to cook–”

His lips turn to a quizzical pout. “I don’t mind.”

You want him to call you angel again. You want him to take you home, make you dinner, and you want to sleepover. Like a girlfriend, you want to wake up in his bed. 

“Sorry,” you breathe, “I think I’m just tired.” 

“Are you sure?” You nod. “Alright. I was worried you didn’t like the pet name, but your pupils dilated when I said it–”

You can’t escape him. One hand in the hanging strap above, the over on your suitcase handle, you have no choice but to stand there with his arm around you to keep you from falling, face so hot with it that you’re sure you’d be feverish to the touch. “It’s fine,” you say, too afraid to look at his face that you end up staring at the nice shape of his throat, his black and purple tie. “Call me what you want. Um, I think we should get Indian.” 

“Good choice, angel.”