#-and I cannot stress this enough through tag formatting-

[bloodied-dagger]

my “for you” page is fucked. Completely unusable

[avifaunaa]

stars blind [ they fall and leave the sky ] [ f.a.+ r ] [ pt.4 ]

Authors Note: Hello readers both returning and new! I’m so entirely happy you guys enjoy this work so far — whether through notes / reblogs or comments. It makes my day and I cannot stress enough what those little things mean. Thank you.

• Also: if I have left anyone new out of the updated tag list, please let me know. I’m trying to keep up with it.

• I also went back and made some additions to previous chapters and changed Windweaver's public name to 'Avian' -- only the Inner Circle will call her Windweaver in private.

Please read the Content Warnings before proceeding further. Thank you!

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FIVE

Pairing: Feyre Archeron x fem!reader x Rhysand / Platonic!Inner Circle x fem!reader

Summary: Slow. That is what you all three agreed to and neither of you appear to be in any rush at this point. You grow to understand who Feyre and Rhysand are in ways that not the entirety of the world, save their Inner Circle, is allowed to. But in the process you forget what creatures all of you are in the end — terrible beasts that sometimes can only react as sanely as your brain can which means not sanely at all.

Content Warnings: Canon in nature but MAJOR MAGICAL liberties taken! Such as the primal fae thing I mentioned, Mating Bonds, discussions of bondings, magic, all the works; Court Politics, Windweaver backstory and a flashback, a slow formation of connections, attempted sexual assault but the attack is intercepted, descriptions torture [ Feyre and Rhysand giving ], angst / wump with a side of hurt / comfort.

Word Count: ~6.3k

It was busy tonight. Busier than you expected for this shift and it had you pausing to think over whether or not you’d missed an important Velaris holiday.

Between the boisterous laughter of your patrons you caught Malora by her arm and pled with her to tell you if you had, in fact, forgotten something important.

Her dimpled cheeks taunted you as she smirked, eyebrow notched.

But still the female smoothly assured you that, no, you had not missed any sort of holiday and there was no special occasion — it was just unusually busy this night despite it being out of the normal for the middle of the week.

You had released her back into the crowd and returned to your own storm to conquer, feeling like a sailor that had not boarded the proper ship for the conditions of the sea.

Tables were filled almost before you could entirely finish cleaning them from the Fae that had taken them up beforehand, the new customers allowing you to only wipe around them before setting their menus down before spiriting off to get drinks for other tables.

The tips were coming in pleasantly even if the unexpected rush had thrown you off and you had so far managed not to spill any drinks and had not messed up food orders; a win in this industry during such a chaotic night.

Between ducking under tight fits to slink through the tavern, when you had even a small moment to take a breathe and gather your thoughts between orders and music and the noise, your eyes would wander to outside the doors and windows.

Velaris was beautiful at all times and the weather changed with the seasons, unlike the “special” seasonal Courts. Even as spring threatened to creep into the starlit Court, snow still dusted the cobblestones and rooftops of buildings.

Your eyes wandered further toward where just the peaks of the House of Wind was visible through the nightlife and clouds and snow. You wondered if Feyre and Rhysand lived there -- when Amren and Mor had taken you there upon being brought into the city, you'd not seen or heard a lick of either Fae.

You hadn't been brave enough to ask about them, either.

You were more curious about them . . . about your mates . . . than you felt you could afford.

It felt surreal if you thought too deeply into that new aspect of your life. Mates — the High Lord and Lady.

Your heart leapt just at the images conjured in your head of them.

“Avian!” the barking shout of Rita ripped you from breeze-like drifting, standing behind the crowded bar with rowdy patrons chattering. “Did you get table fifteen their drinks?”

The notepad wherein your current unmade orders lay forgotten on the end of the bar right next to two chilled glasses, a reminder and a demand for your attentions. “Sorry, Rita,” you called back as you slid down to the glasses and read through the order once more to recall what you were making. “On it.”

The older Fae cocked an eyebrow at you, her unyielding features beautiful and cool but failing to reveal whether she felt angered or put off — and you took that as the blessing it was to zap through making the drinks and delivering them to their owners.

The rest of the night was a struggle within itself; you were in two places mentally and both of them were pulling your mind into a divide that kept you into two different thought processes.

No matter how you tried to make your patrons your foremost focus, Feyre and Rhysand kept returning to you. The agreement of slow and the way your stomach felt an uneasy tug when you tried to return to work at full force was a stark reminder of your life’s inability to settle and become stagnant.

Their grins and hopeful gazes.

Thirty minutes before Rita would be locking the doors, your final customer slinked into the tavern. A male with long hair pulled up away from his face and an expression as though he were a wildcat seeking out a fawn for dinner.

He eventually decided on one of your tables after he stood idly for a few moments and studied you and Malora both; the other female's sudden release of tension was not lost on you as she sent you a concerned glance.

She tilted her chin from her spot next to you at the bar where she was finishing off a Summer Court Shores for her final table, silently asking, You got him? Do you need me to handle it?

You barely allowed your gaze to scour the male who waited like a statue for you to approach, gave him no reason to lock gazes with you. To beckon you over before you were ready.

Malora and you knew what kind of male this was immediately; and neither liked him — the way he moved, the way he looked, the way he simply is. But even so you nodded once, short and sure. I got this.

You greeted him politely, spuing out the specials as you dropped a menu and a napkin in front of him while maintaining the persona that you normally only reserved for patrons that you knew weren’t going to be worth the energy you used — detached yet polite with a welcoming smile, but no offering of further conversation. Notepad out, obvious in what you wanted from him.

His whiskey eyes — you hated whiskey, whiskey was your father's drink, your father's smell, your father's gamble — was comparable to the talons he had sharpened on his fingers. He smelled like a wealthy male, covered in sickeningly sweet roll on oils and roses and you wanted to runrunrun.

You bounced off the casual greetings and attempts at further discussions, and he finally provided you with an order. Three drinks. When one was empty, bring the next. No meal despite your best efforts to sell one.

He nursed his drinks for the final thirty minutes with precise calculation, nails tapping the glass anytime you crossed his way to say your pleasantries to exiting customers or to help Malora with closing duties.

He would brush his hand along yours when he wanted a replacement rather than call your name.

"You will produce an heir to the Windweaver line. Our sorry excuse for a High Lord is running the Court to the ashen ground," your father said, tone final as his hand grasped your wrist. "Once you succeed, then perhaps we will be secure enough to return to our lands and regain our regiments."

Your father was — the look in his eye. "Father," you whispered, "Hybern is allowing Amarantha to wipe out entire Houses. We are on her direct line of sight if we show ourselves."

Nothing in your father's gaze flickered in understanding or acknowledgement. All that remained of the once noble man was a broken, lost male who only wished to keep the House and name?

You tried again.

"I do not want to take a mate. Why must I produce an heir when we are running from mass extinction?" you dared ask, lump rising in your throat as you withheld the contents of your stomach. Vomiting on your father would end poorly. "We are not safe, she will kill me. Any heir I produce."

Your father curled his lip as he stalked toward you until you were forced backward. You tried to get your mother's attention but she dipped her head downward and away from your begging gaze.

"Whatever male you take to bed matters little to me at this point," he snarled as he tightened his grip. "But you will produce results or I will deliver you to Hybern myself."

Even to this day, even after you followed his order, you never came to understand what the reasoning of a broken and crazed male could have been. He never got to meet your daughter, and after his death your family still kept running until capture.

Your mother never deigned to reveal his reasonings either. You chalked it up to instinct at its' very primal core; wherein nothing rational of your father was left behind. Nothing but the beast that everyone was, deep down.

The ending of bloodlines is a nightmare for Fae like your father — and you had wondered if he knew even before he went mad that his death was going to happen with no other way. You wondered: did he do whatever he thought he had to for his family?

In the last year your conclusion settled in your chest like a heavy set of bricks. You did not think your father thought of your future, but of that of the liquid in your veins and the power you host.

The final drink for the male was deposited and you turned on your heel, rushing to the kitchen so you could hide from him until you could bring him his bill and he would leave.

Rita was arm-deep in a sink of dishes with one of the kitchen workers and sent you a sidelong glance. "You alright?"

“Just tired,” you murmured, pressing fingertips into the junction between your nose and eye. There was a sure as Hell ache beginning to form right there — an indicator of a long night and nervous energy.

Rita pulled herself away from the sink, water dripping onto the floor as she sought a towel out. Her gaze was steady but the darkening of concern was starting to cloud. "Do you want me to hurry your last one?"

The offer was tempting, but you did not want to draw anymore attention from the male or draw ire from him. You simply shook your head. "He's on his last drink. I just needed a second before I brought him his bill."

Rita studied you but nodded once.

You had the bill ready as you returned to the floor, heading straight toward the male and grabbing his empty glass and replacing it with the sheet of paper instead.

He had the money out already — indicating he held no tab at the tavern — so you went to reach for it as you asked, "Did you enjoy the drinks?"

Only for sharp talons to lunge out to snatch your hand as it curled over the payment. You jerked in place but forced the fight or flight deep into your stomach, far away, somewhere he would never be able to find it —

“They were lovely. Almost as much as their server. Do tell me — when do you end your night?” he crooned, nails resting just above digging into your skin but putting pressure that forced you to still.

Your throat constricted as you made an attempt to gently gesture behind you. “I’m afraid I’ll be here long after we close. Sir.”

His dark eyes regard you with a look that you refuse to read. Instead you smile — the same smile you offer all overly drunk patrons who try to hit on you — and continue, “Let me get your check taken care of, alright? The last thing you want is Rita storming out of the kitchen and banning you from her tavern for loitering after closeup. I’ll bring back whatever’s leftover.”

He blinked at you as his hand released yours, nails tapping into the tabletop instead as he waved you off. “Keep it. You earned the tip, sweetheart.”

It would seem the threat of the owner was enough to have him send you away and you kept him placated with a demure smile before ushering to the bar to shakily get the payment completed so Rita could close out later.

Malora became purposefully noisy, meanwhile, slamming chairs as she put them upside down on clean tables and clanking dirty dishes as she gathered them onto a tray.

It would appear that the male got the hint and would not be welcomed to wait for the staff to leave to depart as well. He left as he came — stalking out and shifting eerie glances your way until the door closed behind him.

Malora blinked as she watched your shoulders sag considerably once he was out of sight. “He was a piece of work,” she noted, azure eyes glancing sidelong at you. “He do anything weird?”

“He’s a drunk male. Nothing that’s unusual or unmanageable,” you dismissed with as much ease as you could muster as you slapped the rag down onto the tabletop and started to clean it.

Malora made a noise of discontent but she did not push the subject matter with you.

Malora and Rita shared a drink with you as you recalled the details of your last patron. Rita’s tipped ears twitched in irritation as her lips thinned out. “If he was making you uncomfortable, Ava . . .”

“He was,” you admitted, bringing the sweet alcoholic beverage back to your lips, the cool drink having soothed your nerves a great deal, “but I handled it. I threatened him with your name.”

Rita huffed, but she loosened up and finished her drink. Malora tilted her chin at you with a grin. “Certified classic. Keeps everyone — even our non-regulars — in line. Getting banned from Rita’s is considered a taboo.”

The older Fae’s hip notched against the freshly cleaned and waxed bar. “Damn right.” She eyed you. “We all leave together, tonight. I don’t like hearing that he asked when you get off and tried to remain.”

Your relief was severe but you smiled weakly at both females. “Thanks, Rita. I know you wanted to get out of here a little early tonight . . .”

She finished her drink and shook her head, a strand of short silver hair falling over her eyes. “It’s okay. I already warned Nedryian in advance that I may be unable to make it out of here that early.”

“Tell her hi, and that I’m sorry, anyway.”

When the drinks were finished and glasses cleaned and returned under the bar, you went to take out the trash. Malora did it last night, thus it was your turn. The garbage bags were already piled next to the back door that lead out to the mysterious magical dumpster that was more alive than you liked to think about.

You hauled two bags out the door after kicking the door open and moved toward the dumpster. As if sensing the presence of trash — it’s one true beloved — the large object hummed to life as you got a few feet away.

These dumpsters were an aspect of Velaris you found to be fascinating and you’d pestered Rita about them for days. She had told you that nobody really knew when they appeared or who had given them their magic — just that they were inherently harmless and they inhaled the city’s trash like it was candy and nobody knew exactly where it went once it was consumed.

You threw the two bags into the open void of the dumpster and the shuddering of the object revealed its’ enjoyment of the night’s trash haul.

You did this three more times and once the task was completed, you took a moment to rest against the wall just outside the tavern to catch your breath and gather your wits.

Your eyes drifted out from the dark shadows of the tavern’s alley where a soft light from the city’s nighttime glow peeked through, how even as it was so late that it was early people still filtered through the streets with laughter.

You’d explored parts of Velaris with Astra: the parts that Amren and Mor had encouraged you to seek out in order to make yourself at home. And so far . . . so far not one single aspect of this place had managed to disappoint you, underwhelm you.

It was not the Spring Court, where it was always pleasantly warm and gentle or harsh in weather. It was not the Spring Court, where pastels seemed to dominate the entire Court and the overgrowth outweighed the villages.

It was not the Spring Court and that was perhaps the reason you found yourself falling deeper in love with Velaris by the day.

The starlight here outshone the stars in every other Court, though, and that was your favorite part. Each one distinctive and different from the next, twinkling against the black sky.

They looked like the freckles that dusted Feyre’s skin — you remembered how they scrunched up together like a constellation when Feyre’s facial expression warped into amusement or laughter during your first meeting.

A breath escaped your lungs. You close your eyes, locking the stars out of any visible part of you — preventing them from seeing into the depths of your soul.

You let your head drop back to the brick wall of Rita’s and you groan aloud. You’ve met them once, Windweaver, you scold yourself. And you’re already comparing the High Lady’s freckles to the stars. How typical.

A mating bond of this degree . . . it was already having your nervous system ignited in ways that you’ve long thought forever unsparked. You weren’t ready to reach into it, to tug on those threads and see if they felt you, but you knew internally:

They were yours. As much was you were theirs.

You pushed yourself off the wall and slid on your heal, beginning to grasp at the handle to the door to renter the building when the back of your neck was suddenly ripped backward and your body was jerked sideways until it slammed into the brick wall.

A pained yelp rose up in your throat but like a whip, your mouth was quickly covered and the sound was muffled as it escaped from your mouth. Sharp points of pain dug into your jaw and the shock gave way to panic as you began to realize you were being trapped between the wall and a taller, heavier form.

“Shh,” the low male voice crooned from behind you as the nails in your jawline dug in deeper. “Quiet now. I don’t want to nick an artery — that’d be a damn shame for a pretty thing such as you.”

You released a muffled noise of panic, struggling against him as his knee shoved your legs apart and his other hand pierced long nails into the middle of your back to keep you still.

It was the male you had served only an hour or two previously — it had to be — the nails, the voice. You couldn’t move your head to get a look at his face but you inhaled a gasping breath — and —

Roses and rolling oils.

The drink you had shared with Malora and Rita turned to acid in your stomach at the same time as your struggle started to grow violent. The clawed hand now felt like an execution weapon as it slid from your back and dipped lower.

A soft laugh followed his movements, mocked your attempts at wrenching free from his attack. “Fight all you want. You waste your energy and will get nowhere from it.”

Curled talons slit open the button of your pants in your thrashing, his movements calm and his hold on your face tightening as his hand sliced your pants open down the middle.

You closed your eyes and dipped down into the hibernating part of you that you’ve been trying to keep at bay. The powers that were never impressive enough to earn your father’s pride and respect, but enough to earn his demand to breed further in his line.

The air around both you and the male went still, at first.

It caused a pause from him as he pushed you further into the wall and pulled his body away from your back, offering your burning skin a reprieve.

You tried to keep your demeanor more or less the same, struggling.

Growing still would draw his attention back to you; he would come to realize you weren’t defenseless.

His breath inhaled as the flow of air started to drift around you — a soft breeze at first. It mixed both of your scents — his arousal and alcohol soaked malice and your fear and sweat drenched desperation — then turned violent.

His nails dug in tighter as the heavy, sudden winds picked up snow and paper and whatever trash littered the alleyway floor. His attention was now partially torn between keeping you pinned like a helpless mouse and to a larger predator that alerted his senses to danger.

You did not know how much force you could continue putting into an offensive ability without setting him off; to revealing yourself.

Still, with what remaining movement you had left you splayed your fingers against your thigh and waited as the circling winds exploded in front of the male. Not your most powerful build up, but enough to knock him to his ass.

His nails left long, stinging lines as they ripped from your jaw with the impact against his body. He slid only inches away and recovered quickly as you turned around, trembling and already forming another vortex of wind to fight him off with.

He curled his lip in sneering amusement as he crept forward, but he only stopped when the swirling winds sent a stray brick his way and crashed into the wall behind him.

“You have pretty little powers, girl, but it won’t protect you from me. It only extends the hunt.”

Blood splattered on the concrete beneath you from the opened wounds as you stared him down, the only thing between you and him being the small accumulation of wind buildup. Any stronger and you would cause damage to Rita’s or the city . . . And to the people who lived there.

You had to use what was available.

Just as he stalked forward to enter the heart of your vortex, shadows erupted from the corners of the alleyways.

They were fast and unforgiving as they locked the male in a small space that quickly grew smaller before he could understand.

His eyes flickered with something — shock, perhaps — before a cold panic seemed to reek from him in waves.

You could do nothing more than tremble in place and watch as what looked like an eternal night overtook him and snarls and enraged yelps from within had you slowly releasing the winds that angrily circled around you.

Papers and trash drifted down lazily as the air grew still, snow that was disturbed glittering as it leisurely floated about in the air around you to be carried off by the natural breeze and not by the one of your making.

A step behind you —

“It’s me. It’s us,” was announced as soon as you turned, the air already unsettled with your jumpy response.

Rhysand and Feyre stood before you, twin outfits of black dressing their forms as Rhysand’s normally bright gaze remained stony behind the dark cloud behind you.

Feyre’s silk dress swayed as she moved slowly toward you and she reached out an inked hand. “Windweaver,” she tried, voice firm and loud to try and override the now screaming male behind you. “Hey.”

You loosened yourself as soon as her greeting curled around you like a blanket. Her eyes weren’t soft and for that you were grateful — instead there was a fire within them that your frostbitten soul called for.

Your trembling fingers reached back out and curled around steady, sure ones. And then you were in her arms as the impact of what just happened and also what could have happened if you’d not pulled out your abilities and defended yourself hit you like a thousand sword pummels to the head.

She lowered herself and you into the ground. Rhysand glanced sideways and watched as the silk dress flared and danced around you like a protective shadow as his wife cradled their mate as the chemicals and emotions began to realign within your brain.

His wings itched as he forced himself to walk toward the bundle of night he had created around his prey despite the primal urge to return to both females and comfort you as well.

A male had done this to you and Feyre was the best person for your initial comedown of the shock. He would offer his comfort when you had time to settle.

Until then he reached into the darkness until he found the male’s figure. The stink of fading arousal and growing fear cocooned him as Rhysand cupped his chin and leaned close to him, knowing he had nowhere to rear back from.

“Let’s go have a chat, just you and I,” he purred, then winnowed away leaving behind only stardust.

The townhouse was located in a beautiful spot near the Sidra. Feyre told you about it in a quiet, easy tone of voice as she kept a firm but comforting grip on you and winnowed you both into the grand antechamber of the home.

She waited a few heartbeats, her eyes watchful and protective, before releasing you and pulling her grounding hand away from you. Without warning your body locked up and a painful flush raced up your spine — an unexpected rise in fear encasing you as you took on a frozen state.

Feyre’s head tilted back and met your gaze. You found concern lingering, a question waiting. Her light brown hair drifted around her shoulders as she moved with silence to peer at you. She did not touch you again yet, but an offering hand reached back out should you need it.

“I’m not going to ask if you’re okay,” the High Lady finally said, adding noise to the unsteady and heavy breaths that escaped your lungs, “because that would be opening you up to answering a question that is entirely too obvious and I —“ she tore her gaze away, “— I understand what that’s like. The pressure that three simple words can place on someone.”

Your throat tightened at the ghostly drift in her eyes; but it was gone as quick as it was there.

And then you took her hand, accepting what it meant and what it could provide for you and locking away the whispers about consequences. Your fingertips trembled against the High Lady’s palm that exposed your fear and unsure nature, but she only clasped her hand around them and turned to pull you forward.

Feyre crept toward beautiful double doors and, with her free hand, wrapped her fingers around the handle. A pause.

Her eyes drifted toward you again, and now there was kindness within them, a kindness that went beyond the sort you knew Fae nobility usually offered. It was a different breed that you didn’t want touching you — not because you didn’t want to see or feel it but because of what it meant.

A squeeze. You locked eyes with your mate.

“This is a very secure place, Windweaver,” she said, pushing the handle down until one of the doors clicked and started opening with a whisper, “Only three people can winnow here and it’s one of the safest places in Velaris.”

She released the handle and gave the door a slight push to further it open before letting her arm drop to her side. “You are safe.”

A shudder rippled through at the words in a way that you could only excuse as primal reaction. Your muscles started loosening before your brain could catch up, and you wanted to sink into the nearest piece soft furniture and sleep for hours. She has protected you, something buried deep, quiet and curious, whispered, and proven her ability to provide a safe home. Safe safe safe—

“Windweaver?”

Feyre’s call was not rushed or sharp; rather it was delicate and low. When you move your gaze to her face once more you are taken aback by what you find: something shadowing her features, a look in her normally softened eyes that was a little wilder.

Did she feel what you felt just now — except on the other end of the spectrum? Did her primal instinct urge her to protect and provide a safety net in the way yours desired it? Had your positions been switched, you wondered, would you two be facing different internal pressures?

Your gaze flickered down when her throat bobbed. She was holding back — but you weren’t entirely sure what. You could feel it though. Through your Bond.

The Bond itself was fresh and still so vulnerable — the way she ran her thumb along your knuckles with tenderness made you think that she was experiencing this very differently than her Bond with Rhysand.

A flash of guilt struck you as you realize this. Feyre was human before she was ever Fae — whenever something about her Fae body comes to light that’s new . . . Does it confuse her just as deeply as it’s confusing you, who’s been nothing but Fae your whole life, now?

“Hey.” A hand cupped your cheek but the touch was entirely too tender and with too little contact. “Are you with me?”

You sought out the words you wished to speak — how do you thank her for what she’s done? How do you express any of your emotions without breaking apart and showing her the damage to your soul?

“Yeah,” you say instead, a shaky hand you really aren’t controlling reaching up and grasping hers on your cheek. “I’m with you.”

The spike of energy that had kept you alert during your attempt at survival was wearing off, and along with it came the throbbing in your temples.

You had not used your powers in such capacity in months — mostly to keep a low profile that your bloodline hails from the Spring Court. You relied on your perfumes to keep your scent confusing enough to not draw questions.

An urge you couldn’t decipher pushed you to rest your forehead against hers, furthering the contact with Feyre. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice low and gravelly. “Thank you for being there, for bringing me here.”

The artist that was this beautiful female gave you a small smile; but it was a smile that soothed so many of your aches. “Always.”

Always.

As you both pulled back, reluctantly, from one another you finally got a chance to take in the home that she had brought you into. The doors drifted shut at some point without either of you having moved to do it, likely meaning that they close through some form of magic.

It was a beautiful place — but you supposed you shouldn’t expect anything less from Feyre and Rhysand. You wanted to focus on the interior design, but the warmth the home exuded only added to your increasing exhaustion.

Feyre didn’t drag you down deeper into the halls to explore. She instead stopped just below a staircase that led to a second floor and tilted her chin. “Would you like to get cleaned up?” she asked. “You can take a bath if you’d like.”

Gods that sounded fantastic. Your pants were in shreds and unsalvageable the wound on your face — while already starting to clot — was throbbing, and the general layer of disgust had settled over you like a second skin.

You almost said yes — but then your confirmation died in your throat. Your faculties had started returning to you and the image of Astra flashed through your mind. Panic welled up as you started,

“I—my daughter—“

“Mor got her,” Feyre responded quietly, turning back midstep down the hallway and placed a soothing hand on your shoulder. “Her and Nyx are having a sleepover. I hope that’s okay.”

The fresh wave of panic ebbed, leaving behind the notable and increasing ache your body was hosting.

“That’s fine — I — thank you,” you murmured after a moment. Anything to keep her away from seeing you — seeing you in this state of helplessness, of distress.

Feyre’s jaw tightened and for a moment you thought you saw a flash of familiarity within them. But she only nodded once. Then said, softer than her expression, “You never have to thank me for that.”

You wanted to ask if she knew what you were thanking her for — for catching you before the breakdown came, for thinking of Astra and ensuring she was fine for the night, for taking you away somewhere safe — but she simply entwined your fingers with hers again when your gaze had gone blank against her skin.

“There’s a master suite with an attached bathroom that’s all yours,” the female said, tugging you until you were at the bottom of the staircase. “You’re free to use whatever you want. What’s ours is yours, okay?”

You blinked as she dropped your fingers and watched you, expecting but kind. Your throat closed around any sort of verbal response and you nodded a bit. “Okay. I — okay.”

“Good.” Her lips twitched; just a bit. “Feel free to come down to the kitchens for food or sleep if you’d like. I need to handle some things with Rhysand, but we won’t leave you for long. Amren will be here.”

You didn’t want her to leave, but you held your tongue and gave her a quiet nod before turning your back and taking the stairs upward so she couldn’t see the expression you were unable to hide.

The stench of blood washed away the stink and filth of Hewn City’s usual rot, but as Feyre slinks through the dungeons’ entrance and stepped over a puddle of sewer water she feared it may not last.

Heavy breathing and her husbands’ soft voice greeted her as she stalked into the room where Rhysand had dragged whatever remained of the male. She had changed into her leathers once she was sure Windweaver had started a bath and had left silently.

Her rage had been well-contained and used into something protective when she drew Windweaver away from the scene that she and Rhysand had come upon.

They had panned to walk you to Iris’ together to pick their children up and then walk you and Astra home. It had meant to be sweet, a way for the three of you to bond under the guise of your children loving one another so much.

“There’s my lovely wife,” Rhysand crooned without turning away from where he was crouched down in front of the male. Said male wasn’t even tied up, just limp in a chair and breathing wetly. Blood bubbled from his nostrils.

Feyre’s nails slid through the sleek strands of Rhysand’s hair as she approached him from behind and peered down at the male, who had opened his eyes but didn’t seem to be completely present.

She felt Rhysand subtly lean into her touch as she scratched lightly. In this moment — right now — it was Feyre who stood above both males. Feyre, a female with enormous power, who leaked superiority.

She curled her blood-red lips until the tips of her fangs peeked out. “Is he giving out already? I was hoping to play.”

Rhysand moved under her nails and snagged the long, greasy strands of hair. The yelp and sharp jerk from him was satisfying for Feyre — but still not enough in terms of reparations.

He was going to destroy her in the most unforgivable way, her hindbrain nagged, angry and feral. Kill him, rip out his organs and feed them to him raw.

Feyre’s jaw clenched, unclenched. This was new, and so fucking raw. She didn’t know what to do with it other than glance down at Rhysand.

But her Illyrian mate leaned closer to the male, flattening his wings close to his back to keep them from touching any part of him.

“Look at your High Lady when she approaches you. I’m sure you’ve heard what happens to those who don’t give her the proper respects.”

His purr was deep and falsely alluring, a threat cushioned with enchantment.

His sweat was leaking from every pore in his body and his sour stench was quickly becoming fearful. It was delightfully disgusting on Feyre’s tongue, who’d never truly found enjoyment in the suffering of others.

These circumstances were different; that’s what she told herself.

She smiled sweetly as his glassy eyes eventually dragged toward where she stood above them both, casual and lazy in posture.

“I didn’t know,” he slurred without prompting, thick dark fluid dribbling from between his lips between words. “Wouldn’t . . . Wouldn’t have . . .” He gasped for air.

Feyre stepped forward, past Rhysand who silently stood and backed away so she could take his place, and caressed his chin. The blood was thick and warm as it soaked into her hand. It reminded her of her finest paints.

“Wouldn’t have what?” she urged, smiling wider at him, “Wouldn’t have tried to rape and beat the High Lord and Lady’s mate? But only if you’d known?”

His silence — the way he seemed to understand what trap he’d set up for himself and then proceeded to walk into — was telling.

Prey caught — now the hunter was ready to skin.

“You shouldn’t be touching anyone without their fucking consent no matter who they’re connected to,” the brown-haired female murmured, still holding his chin and collecting the blood in her palm like a sacrificial bowl.

A heavy inhale and wet cough. Blood went spraying across her extended arm like paint splatter on a canvas and still Feyre did not retreat.

Her eyes glittered despite the darkness of the dungeon as her nails began to make sharp indents into his skin. “We’ve done some research on you, Jarth Fermönd.”

A huff was his only reply. The only one he could provide with the blood filling his lungs faster than he could expel it.

She would paint this scene one day — if only because her rage seemed as endless as the darkness in the night.

“We’re going to play — because I want to and I always get what I want.”

Rhysand ensured his shadows silenced the screams from echoing into the city’s sewer system.

Dark Feyre I’m on my knees and I’m not ashamed.

PART FIVE

TAG LIST:

@motorsp0rt , @lifetobeareader , @hjgdhghoe , @mystirica-blog , @skyler129 , @kooterz , @we-were-beautiful , @manicmanuscription , @sweetorangeblossom , @kissesfromnovalie , @lovely-susie , @beeop223 , @lindsayjoy44 , @celestialzdiviner , @fandom-7 , @shylahstarzz , @minbeatriz16 -- IF I HAVE FORGOTTEN ANYONE LET ME KNOW!

[sanerontheinside]

On the basis of my own comment, "I fully missed this because I cannot handle the news except in ‘weekly postmortem’ format", I've decided to do a write-up of everything I've been reading about the crash over Washington, D.C.

If this isn't the sort of posting you'd like to see from me in the future, please feel free to block "#the post mortem". I'm not sure how many of these I have in me, but if I ever find myself struck by the fancy to do another, that is the tag I will be using.

I'd also like to thank Canary (canary_lux on Discord) for help gathering, scanning, and organizing sources, and for their insight on flight training.

Throughout this write-up, I will refer to the current president by number of term (45 or 47), mostly to differentiate policies enacted during his first term from the present.

Intro

On the night of Wednesday, 1/29/25, 67 people died in a collision between an American Airlines passenger aircraft and a military Blackhawk helicopter. This tragedy was immediately followed by outcry and the usual hunt for someone to hold accountable. This was also the first fatal air crash involving a US airline since 2009—a 16-year safety record.

While it’s tempting to assign blame to various politicians, parties, and policies for the accident—and in fact many do (FAA blames trump, trump blames DEI, FAA, Biden in particular and democrats in general, etc.)—sole political ownership cannot be assigned. The initial outcry drew attention to a hiring freeze for air traffic controllers, and to curt dismissal of FAA personnel, but the problem has been brewing for far longer.

This post mortem seeks to provide some context for the incident at Reagan National Airport by looking back at policies of the last two presidential terms, as well as the reality of local air traffic in Washington, D.C.

.

The Shortage

Before addressing the current shortage of air traffic controllers, it is important to note that since the accident all reports indicate the air traffic controller on duty that night gave proper instructions.

Both planes and military aircraft are equipped with Automatic Dependent Surveillance-Broadcast (ADS-B), but this system is suppressed at low altitudes because of the high likelihood of false alerts. At last reporting, the Blackhawk was at an altitude of 375 ft. For helicopters, the permitted flight ceiling over Washington, D.C. is 200ft.

With that established, however, there is still value in drawing attention to the national shortage of air traffic controllers (henceforward ATC's).

In 2021, the US Bureau of Statistics ranked air traffic control as the 4th most stressful job among all. The position has a high employee turnover rate due to transfers, resignations, removals, deaths, and attrition. An ATC's skills are unique, and costly to replace both in money and time, as candidates go through 2-3 years of training and must pass a rigorous exam.

During the COVID 19 pandemic, lockdowns drove down the volume of daily flights, putting many air traffic controllers out of a job. Agencies worldwide let go of trainees, stopped hiring, and stopped training new hires. In many cases, academies closed outright. Many air traffic controllers were offered early retirement.

Once travel restrictions were lifted, demand bounced back—and the aviation industry suddenly faced a bottleneck. A 2 or 3 year one, in fact. Flights haven't really bounced back perfectly since the pandemic; many airports experience serious delays—not least because they don't have enough ATC's.

In June 2023, the DoT inspector general reported that 77% of air traffic control facilities were understaffed. In December 2023, after a series of high profile near-misses, the FAA named a panel of experts to address air traffic controller fatigue. Reuters reported that air traffic controllers work mandatory overtime and 6-day weeks.

The FAA's response to these findings was to appoint a three-member panel to "examine how the latest science on sleep needs and fatigue considerations could be applied to controller work requirements and scheduling" until more personnel could be hired. Furthermore, the FAA Reauthorisation Act of 2024 expanded air traffic controller training capacity and required the FAA to update the training process.

Unfortunately, the near-misses and flight delays are likely to continue under recent policy changes.

.

The Policy of 45

The main reason for addressing the shortage itself at the top of this write-up is that a lot of early outcry held the 47th President's recent hiring freezes, cuts, and firings responsible for the accident.

Context is critical. Obviously, trump’s hiring freeze in no way helps this issue, and neither does the dismissal of people in leadership positions. Even the panel he dismissed was the Aviation Security Advisory Committee, which is geared towards TSA operations moreso than air traffic control.

But on the ground, it's probably his policies as 45 that did the most lasting damage.

In 2018, the proposed budget cut funds to the DoT by 13%, or $2.4 billion. The proposal eliminated funding for the Essential Air Service, a program that guaranteed continued commercial air service to small communities in the US which would not otherwise be profitable. Air traffic control would also be privatized under the proposal.

This 2018 post by Democracy Forward provides a good summary of 45's policies. (It's also an interesting read if you've been following the recent changes in regulation of airline fees. In brief, the struggle to regulate fees and accessibility has been ongoing since before 2013, and trump's policies are unsurprisingly airline company-friendly.)

By contrast, in 2021 the proposed budget for the FAA included $11.4 billion (increase of $432 million from FY21) to oversee the safety of civil aviation, and to provide for the operation, maintenance, communications, and logistical support of the air traffic control and air navigation systems. There were additional requests totalling over $8 billion to improve airfield infrastructure and grants for Aviation Workforce Development programs.

The final 2021 budget, the American Rescue Plan Act of 2021, passed with $15 billion for airlines and airline contractors for a third extension of Payroll Support Program which would otherwise have expired at the end of March 2021. The extension prevented the furlough of more than 27,000 aviation employees. There was an additional $8 billion for U.S. airports.

As a result of 45's budget cuts, the FAA was forced to lay off many people. “He slashed our budget and a lot of people, including myself, were laid off. So, we’re just waiting to see what programs will continue,” a longtime FAA contractor, rehired under the Biden administration, told What A Day.

Former House Transportation and Infrastructure Chair Peter DeFazio also notes, "The unnecessary government shutdown [in 2019] shut down the Aviation Academy, and a number of people did not come back after the academy closed down." He cites this as a crucial interruption that was then followed by a yearlong closure due to the lockdown.

.

Congested Airspace

In his interview with Politico, DeFazio puts Congress front and center: "Every senator in particular wants a nonstop flight to and from wherever they live. As you saw, [Kansas Sen.] Jerry Moran said this was a flight which he had encouraged or otherwise supported. The last FAA bill, [Texas Sen.] Ted Cruz said he needed a direct flight to [San Antonio], so he engaged in a lengthy battle."

The bill referenced here is S. 1939, the FAA Reauthorization Act of 2024, which contained many positive items. This was the bill that required air carriers to provide a full refund for a cancelled or significantly delayed flight; it expanded air traffic controller training capacity and required the FAA to update the training process.

This bill also increased the number of daily round-trip flights allowed at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport (DCA), despite protests from the airport authority. (Though it should be noted that the new flights added to the airport's schedule by this bill have not yet been fully implemented.)

DeFazio has words for the military, as well: "And it’s one thing, when there’s an urgent need or a security issue, to move people by military helicopter to the White House or from one base to another in the D.C. area. It’s another to do it for convenience for generals and “very important people” who don’t want to sit in traffic. […] for training, they should be doing that in the hours when there are way fewer flights coming into National Airport."

The flight rules over Washington, D.C. are very complex, developed to manage civilian, military, and government traffic. It is simultaneously the most restricted and the most congested airspace in the country. Pilots have been complaining about the complexity of flight rules for years.

This stretch of the Potomac in particular is designated a Special Flight Restricted Area. In the words of Senator Tammy Duckworth (D-IL), "You don't get to fly in that without additional flight training." All crew members aboard the Blackhawk were experienced, having logged 500-1000 hours. Transcripts of the air traffic control instructions and responses from the pilots in the minutes before the accident show that the Blackhawk crew twice confirmed visual of the plane with the ATC, including approximately 25 seconds before impact.

But in multiple stories published since the crash, there are quotes from pilots who had similar experiences in that area, and recall near-misses with passenger aircraft coming in to the same runway. One retired Army National Guard helicopter pilot recalls that he lost sight of the jet in the city lights and descended to an altitude of 50 feet to avoid collision with an unseen flight. There are at least two reports of near-misses under very similar conditions from 2013 and 2015.

.

The Post Mortem

The President's flurry of executive orders, hiring and funding freezes, have dominated the news cycle for the last 12 days. There isn't currently evidence to support that various budget and staffing cuts, including those attempted by 47 two days before the accident, directly contributed to the incident on January 29th.

However, cutting personnel, funding, and abolishing positions once vacated will increase the risk of accidents going forward. Many US government services have not recovered from the combination of 45's policies and effects of the pandemic. They are presently in a state where funding and personnel cuts will result in direct consequences to the American people, and likely very quickly.

As for the Washington, D.C. crash itself, it is indeed a tragic loss of life. In all likelihood, it could have been prevented by appropriate response to prior near-misses, addressing concerns voiced by pilots and professionals, or perhaps a less entitled Senate.

.

Sources

https://webcf.waybackmachine.org/web/20250120173159/https://simpleflying.com/us-atc-shortage-analysis/

https://www.reuters.com/business/aerospace-defense/panel-review-us-air-traffic-controller-fatigue-after-near-miss-incidents-2023-12-20/

https://www.tumblr.com/gunsandfireandshit/774138773393063936?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/huffy-the-bicycle-slayer/774137554059575296?source=share

https://democracyforward.org/work/sidebar-airlines-and-the-trump-administration/ (published 2018, edited 2022)

https://www.politico.com/news/magazine/2025/01/31/defazio-plane-crash-blame-00201767

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2018_United_States_federal_budget

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Rescue_Plan_Act_of_2021

https://phys.org/news/2017-06-pros-cons-privatizing-air-traffic.html

https://www.tsa.gov/sites/default/files/asac-charter-september-2022.pdf

https://www.wdsu.com/article/pilots-worried-dc-airspace-crash/63626297

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/experts-ask-why-black-hawk-helicopter-may-have-been-flying-above-allowed-altitude/

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/tammy-duckworth-american-airlines-crash/

https://commons.erau.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1910&context=jaaer

[cringywhitedragon]

Heads up about possible scams asking for donations (namely pretending to be Palastenian refugees in need of financial aid)

Sorry but I do not take asks asking for donations.

This is due to it both being a possible spam risk and or a fraudulent campaign that I myself am not able to vet as being legit.

Sorry if this is coming off a little rude but I’m just a very cautious person and I really don’t want people to lose money over what they think is a good cause which is where I’m going to say.

As you may know as of recent times, there seemingly has been an influx of posts being sent out asking for donations namely because of the war in Israel/Palastine.

Wars are a horrible thing and because of them we will get people who will be in need of financial aid which is understandable. BUT there are also scammers out there looking to take advantage of people’s willingness to help out those in need.

These scams are not uncommon on tumblr from what I understand even before the Gaza War broke out (namely those pretending to be a person who’s disabled and doesn’t have the fund to pay for medication they need)

So if you do end up receiving a message from a random account asking to reblog/or just as an ask, please don’t just blindly post it and tag people. DO SOME RESEARCH FIRST PLEASE!

Check other social media platforms to see if it is a legit campaign as scammers are known to steal campaigns and pretend to be that person

Look at the person’s blog. If it’s brand new and the only thing that they have posted is a donation request then it is likely a scam. I would also recommend being on the lookout if they reblogged anything from a pr0n bot since I saw a post where that did happen. Also check their likes/followers if you need to.

Using an oddly copy/paste format for their messages with similar phrasing to other known scam blogs. Scammers often reuse a lot of the same script for their scams

USE REVERSE IMAGE SEARCH!!! I cannot stress this enough as STEALING PHOTOS IS VERY COMMON TATIC MANY SCAMMERS DO!!

Use the tag #donation scam here on tumblr and scroll through if you need to. I’ve seen a few blogs that compiling together lists of known alias that scammers are using and the like.

If any of these above things come up regarding a donation request or if you feel suspious yourself then go ahead and block/report that blog or delete the massage they sent to you.

This world is filled with many kind people who want to help those in need but you guys need to know that there are scammers out there willing to take advantage of that, so please be vigilant and keep an eye open whenever you do get asked for one of these

[bedpolls]

how many characters do you have in your inbox?

I'm sure you didn't expect a nice long response anon, but that's what you're getting.

Right now I have 50 asks in my inbox, including this one. The last time I completely emptied the inbox was on 5/14. Best case scenario, is that it will take about 2 hours for me to sort through and post the requests to the queue. Once I got over 100 asks in less than a 48 hour period, and straight up spent 4.5 hours sorting through them. Here's why it takes me so long.

I do a basic search to make sure the character in question isn't a minor, and to figure out what their actual name is. I cannot stress this enough, idk shit about 90% of the requests I get. I don't know who that character is. Any mistakes made with names or photos chosen aren't because I secretly hate you and that character, or because I'm being malicious. It's because I've got little to no way to know what's correct. I'm going off shit on wikis, and most of that content is written by a bot nowadays anyways.

For me, the ideal submission format is "[FULL CHARACTER NAME] from [FULL TITLE OF MEDIA]" and that's it. That way I can just copy/paste directly from the ask into google. I have not instituted this as a rule, simply because I can't get people to read what rules I do have in the first place. Idk how much more eye catching that posts needs to be. It's bold, in red, and pinned to the top of the blog. If I put in a requirement for formatting, it would disqualify most requests, and I don't want to do that.

Some people feel the need to editorialize in the request itself, which tbh I mostly ignore. I don't care why you submitted this character. Idk anything about this character. Do whatever. Live your best life.

A random character nickname + acronym for the title is also the worst. I can usually figure it out, but it takes longer. When I've still got 30+ requests to get through, that's frustrating. I think sometimes people will just put the acronym for a piece of media in out of habit, or because they see I've used an acronym at some point in the tagging system. Tumblr does recommend tags, and that's why I might use it. This means that, when an acronym pops up again in the ask, I still don't immediately recognize it until I can remember googling it two weeks ago the last time that piece of media came up.

When it comes to the age of characters, I'll be honest I have much less patience. Sometimes I will google "[CHARACTER NAME] age" and what comes up is a spirited reddit thread, where people are arguing about whether or not the character is 15 or 45. Or 16 or 1500. Or whether or not they count as a minor, if they're physically 13 but actually 120 years old. Or whatever. I just fucking delete those, I'm not dealing with that shit.

I also often have to search the blog or scroll the queue to see if I have done the request before. There's a few video games where I've gotten a bunch of requests, there's a shitton of characters, and the names all blend together. If it's a duplicate, I delete those requests.

Generally speaking though, I try my best to ensure that every request gets posted. Yes even if it's weird, even if it's niche. You can submit characters from that one webcomic, or that one movie you love from 1954. The only requests that get deleted are ones that are 1) duplicates 2) violate the posted rules or 3) are so incomprehensible that I have no way of knowing what the fuck the requester is talking about.

[ladysomething]

EXCUSE YOU MA'AM

Mads. what the fuck.

hun. I have. questions. I have thoughts. I have everything but tiredness and I'm supposed to be sleeping. I have a job to go to tomorrow. instead of that guess what I'm doing. I'm crawling on my roof. I'm gnawing at the bars of my enclousure. I'm in your walls actually.

let's go back to my 5+1 format. today is maybe 4 things for real.

1. I was. on the beach. ON THE BEACH. with my mom. and my dad. AND my brother. I was asleep before I saw the chapter. I had. a fucking alcoholic beverage in my hand. my family kinda assumed fighting karens at my job finally caught me and I had gone insane. maybe screaming bloody murder after I was asleep was a little bit worrying (two german dudes came to see if I was or had some kind of drug. I didn't). but Peter and Dante got me. I wanna have them. in front of me so that I can do some stress release.

2. the outfit is like. slutty slutty or just slutty. I never kind of understood the heels. are they like one of those that look like "roman" sandals? if you know what I mean. the ones that wish death upon your feet the moment you see them through the window that also are insufferable to wear because of the little strips or how exactly. show me your brain. c'mon don't be shy. I just wanna have a look. on how the fuck this thing goes. obviously not for a spoilers objective. surely not because of that.

3. fuck Fred and fuck Ferrari and fuck sponsors. in all honesty, fuck everyone but Jimmy and Sassy. oh and that reminds me

4. I hate you. (I don't) why would you work me up that fucking much and then leave me there. you're like a bf I had in college that left when we were about to have sex because he remembered he had an assignment due the next day and he had to finish like half of the thing. asshole.

+1 had it been anyone else, I would go on to say I'm proud to say I saw the Carlos thing coming. but is you. I cannot trust you. you're the real unreliable narrator. I'm sure I'll get a whiplash of the bunch of plot twist that this thing has.

+2 I was not going to text you about my issues with the operation of ao3 but after I faced a Charles fucking Dickens tag AGAIN I decided that maybe I will. it was all to protect my identity because I'm batman (I do not know how to use tumblr either, you'll soon find out) but who cares now. the PTSD is real now. if I ever find Charles Dickens again on ao3 I'll scoop my eyeballs with a spoon.

thanks for coming to my ted talk. also great chapter as always hun. I need wednesdays to come faster now.

😂😂😂

not today still being 6 things hahaha

well look. sorry not sorry but breaking that "fanfic readers can read anything in public with a straight face" really brings me immense joy. and I'm glad Dante and Peter hit as hard for you as they did for me

here is the Inso behind the shoes. do with that info what you will.

honestly ???? fuck Max and fuck Charles while we're at it. idiots.

don't worry. you will be gratified soon enough.

+1 hahahah the Carlos thing is ... I mean. it's a thing! that happened! that will be expanded upon next chapter!

+2 truly I am begging you. message me. you do not need to suffer the horror of the Charles Dickens tag!!!! I will guide you in the glorious ways of ao3.

[crow-hoards-things]

This got kinda long so I’m putting it under the cut because I doubt most people will be interested, but maybe some of y’all will.

Crow’s Process for Finding Good Fics to Hoard

FILTERS. I cannot stress this enough. The instant I start searching for fics, the filters go on. - Include characters, tropes, and relationships I want to read. - Exclude things that are an insta-no. - BAM! Personalized list of fics to scroll through! - Sometimes I’m lazy with my filters, in which case I go through this list: What’s the rating? (I like General and Teen). What’s the pairing type? (I typically read platonic fics so anything other than Gen is a no-go). Are there any Warnings? (I typically prefer fics without warnings)

Make Snap Judgements. - Is the title interesting? - Is it capitalized? (Non capitalized titles are typically a no for me, but not always. It depends on the rest of the presentation.)

Check the Tags. - Are there any pairing tags? - Are they romantic or platonic? (Again, I read predominantly gen, in which case I’m looking for all platonic tags). - Where is the tag for my duo compared to the other tags? (Are they the last relationship tag? Or are they first? If they’re last then I’m out because they aren’t the focus of the fic UNLESS it’s a 5+1 with a group of characters and one member of the duo is the mc.) - What are the Character Describing Tags? (Ex. I like ‘Good Older Sibling [character] and ‘[Character] Needs A Hug’. Those are Fic green flags for me.) - What are the genre tags? Ex. I know I like Hurt/Comfort and Fluff. I don’t like Hurt/No Comfort which means any fic tagged with that is a no. - Are there any other tags I like/dislike?

If the tags pass the vibe check I move on to the summary. - Is the summary capitalized? If it isn’t I’m immediately done with a fic, no matter how interesting it might’ve been otherwise, because I know it’s something I won’t be able to overlook. - IS there a summary? If not it’s an insta-no. - What’s the fic about? Is it interesting? - What tense is the fic written in? What POV? I like third person past tense, present tense is incredibly distracting and I can’t read it. - What’s the general quality of writing? - Is there anything in the summary that I missed in the tags?

Word Count. I typically don’t read anything under 900 words because that’s my personal preference and I find it’s generally indicative of the quality of writing too.

Chapter Count. I tend towards one-shots more than multi-chapter fics, but it depends on my mood.

Open the fic and skim the A/N at the beginning if there is one. Is there anything here I missed in the tags or summary?

Check out the formatting - Is it all from one POV or are we head hopping? (I strongly dislike head hopping and it’s distracting, but not a deal breaker if I like everything else.) - Is there a paragraph break for each new speaker? (I cannot read fics that don’t do this. This is the bare minimum of formatting y’all.) - Is punctuation formatted correctly? (Ex. “I can’t believe we’re going to the fair!” = Yes. ‘I can’t believe were going to the fair!!!” = No. “Are you crazy?” = Yes. “Are you crazy!?” = No.)

What’re the vibes? At this point I can generally tell. Do I feel like I’m going to enjoy this fic? If yes I keep reading until I’ve either finished it or find something that makes me click off. If no I get rid of it and start again.

Note: This seems like a lot, but like I said it’s all snap judgements made within a couple seconds at most. I’ve been reading fic for years, and I know what I like. Most of this is subconscious and I can go pick through a whole page of fics in 5-10 minutes with this criteria. So far it’s worked pretty well.

Additional Note: It’s okay to have high standards. That’s how you ensure you’re going to enjoy the fics you read. As you can tell from my criteria, I’ve got my own standards that are kinda high.

Anyways. That’s Crow’s Process for Finding Good Fics to Hoard. If you read this I hope you found it interesting or entertaining. :)

Another AO3 thing I’m curious about, how do yall decide if something is good enough to read? Usually I follow a rule of 1 kudos for every 10 hits. One because it’s easy math and two it’s yet to fail me. Thoughts? Do you just go for it and pray it’s good?

[andromedaexists]

WUPDATE: CALL ME ICARUS

𝚆𝚎𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟷𝟿𝚝𝚑 || 𝙲𝚊𝚖𝚙 𝙽𝚊𝙽𝚘

y'all i am so busy rn that i forgot to keep yous updated on my progress. moving forward i am going to try and be more present here, i am going to work my way through my backlog of tag games this weekend and queue up all the writing yous tagged me in.

this month is camp nano and it has kept my mighty busy. here is a list of things that has happened this month:

finished the prologue and chapters 1-10. i got them up for betas to read (if you'd like to beta for CMI, the form is still open to apply here)

got in contact with an artist and started the process of commissioning them for a cover (they just sent me the concept sketch and im!!!!!)

set an official publication date (announcement coming soon 👀👀👀)

submitted a query! (and realized that i don't want to trad pub so i'm self pubbing instead!)

started talking to formatting editors. i'm not sure if i'll be able to afford a good formatting review before publication, but i am in talks with someone who will let me use their Vellum!

started research on how to self pub/what company i want to go through (and actually set up a channel where i can dump my research once i compile it!)

cried a lot over this whole process. a lot.

so yeah! a lot has happened! a lot of good stuff, but a lot of stressful stuff as well! that's okay though, i'm just over the moon that i have an official pub date 🥰

i'm going to push through to the end of camp nano, but i am going to try and get back into weekly wupdates and just talking about writing a lot more. i was a little hesitant about joining camp nano given how bad regular nano went for me last year, but a new server i joined has really helped me find my love of writing again (thank you doom and clanky and so many others that i met through the bird app, i love you all)

anyways, enough rambling. let's get to what you guys are really here for: snippets! i am going to add a couple here (read, a snippet for each chapter i've missed updating here) to make up for my relative silence as of late:

Chapter 5:

There are two more encounters listed below it, but before Icarus can read them over he is distracted by a flash of gold entering the shop. His eyes shoot up, latching to the new patron standing in line with their back to him. It’s normal for bright colors and movement to grab his attention, but this time something feels different. He can’t put his thumb on it, but his brain is telling him that he should recognize them. It’s screaming that he should know who they are. But for the life of him, he cannot make out who it is. Whomst? The fuck? From this distance, he can’t see anything that might tell him who they are. Their plain black clothes could be the tell of an Elysian, but that isn’t a guarantee. The only truly identifiable trait is the halo of blond curls cascading over their shoulders. Why do I feel like I know them?

Chapter 6:

Ariadne whistles, a long and appreciative sound as she sees her husband’s work. The tattoo had been a beast to heal, but the hours of torturous pain and restless nights of endless itching had been well worth it. He spent days ogling the tattoo after it had first healed, the feathers look so real that you can almost feel them when running your hands over the inked skin. It is everything he wanted and then some. A feather-light touch runs down the etched skin. There is only one person who had ever touched him with that kind of reverence, his artist must have gotten up to inspect the tattoo. He is admiring his art—as he should—when he says, “Looks like you should have used more lotion.” He lets go of one edge of the hoodie to flip him the bird. It’s impossible to hide anything from his artist, of course, and he knew that his lackluster care would be noted. There are likely small splotches where the ink had fallen out due to his poor moisturizing regiment, but it’s not like he has much of a choice in that. Icarus drops the back of his hoodie with a sigh as he turns to face the artist again. YOU KNOW? HARD REACH AREA ALONE. His eyebrows raise as he speaks, his signs becoming large and boisterous. He then mimes trying to reach the middle of his back. That gets a chortle out of his artist and Ariadne. He hadn’t thought to consider how he would need to reach every part of his back before getting the tattoo, and the fact that he doesn’t have anyone in his life to help him makes it that much worse.

Chapter 7:

“Look,” Andromeda levels at him, voice growing in intensity as they say, “I understand that you don’t quite trust me yet. I mean, we just met yesterday. Hell, I don’t even know your name yet! But-” “Icarus.” He grabs the hoodie on the left and pulls it over his head. He takes a moment to pull his hair up and fasten it in a ponytail before turning and leaning back against the closet door. “My name is Icarus.” “Okay. Icarus. Y’know, that fits.” Their voice is calmer, quieter, as if that piece of information is enough to placate them. Icarus huffs. The name really does fit him, doesn’t it? Always jumping into things without thinking of the consequences, taking risks, and keeping shit close to his chest until he gets a bit too close to hubris and starts to fall apart. Falling in love with the sun personified. Burning, falling, crashing, drowning. Yeah, the name fits him. The only difference between him and the Icarus of myth is that he died at the end of his story. Icarus has no plans of dying. No, he plans of making it out the other end of his story and living to tell the tale.

Chapter 8:

“I thought the whole ‘Oh, Hestia has a pizza shop?’ ordeal would tell you that I have no idea where to go.” Huh, yeah, that should have clicked with him. It’s not like they could search up directions, they likely don’t have a phone just the same as him. Can’t risk having a way for someone to use GPS to locate him. It’s not like he has anyone to keep in contact with, anyways. “It’s just down the street. Go out the front of the building and head down West Saint Clair, it’s just past fourth street. I’d say can’t miss it but you very much could, there’s no sign out front. It’s the only building that looks like there’s someone living in it on that block, though.” “Got it. West Saint Clair, Fourth Street, not-abandoned building.” Andromeda repeats the directions to themself as they head towards the front door. “Anything else while I’m out?”

Chapter 9:

How could he forget? “Καιρὸς δε, Thanatos,” he mumbles as he stretches his arms out in front of him and rests his forehead on the blissfully cool counter. “And here I was thinking you weren’t gonna remember me.” Long gone is the shrill and timid voice of a sickly kid, replaced by one of the most soothing and deep tones Icarus had ever heard. “…Fair ‘nuff.” The vibrations of a glass hitting the counter top make Icarus look up. A glass of water, just water. He groans, that is not what he wants right now. He’s craving the sweet buzz of an energy drink, but that will require him to get up and walk around the island to grab one. Andromeda chuckles, not moving an inch as they watch Icarus suffer over the glass. “Quit pouting and drink.” He drops his head, turning his face away from the glass. “Oh come on, you big baby. Deja de hacer un berrinche y bebe.” They poke his cheek as he pouts. “Mira, food’s ready. Sit up and eat.”

Chapter 10:

“Why are we running?” they ask, gasping for air after the impromptu sprint. Icarus points to the bird as it hops along the ridge of the tent. He turns to watch their reaction, this is a big deal. Their eyes widen and their jaw drops open, they are just as shocked as he is. His smile has not left, though it dulls as their face drops to sadness and grim acceptance. What? “A crow.” Before he can say anything the look is gone. They beam a bright smile at him. “I can’t believe you found a bird! That’s definitely good luck for us.” But it’s not, their reaction sits wrong with him. He squints his eyes, watches them to see if that glimpse of despair will surface again. When it doesn’t, Icarus forces a smile on his face. If they don’t want to talk about it then he isn’t going to talk about it.

Okay, i think that's enough of a writing dump for now. here's the CMI Taglist:

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[anotheradult]

From releasing on all five of those sites my experience has been that Webnovel is great for views, but I have heard rumours that there might be bots on the site, so they could be inflated numbers. I have no looked into this further, so I cannot say anything definitely, bu it is an ego boost seeing 4k+ reads on a piece. Wattpad had the worst metric, with reads as low as under 5 per chapter on an Isekai, but it was my first webnovel and probably not best suited for the site. Scribble Hub, Royal Road, and Honeyfeed all get roughly the same reader numbers, with maybe SH being the highest. I got some harsh criticism in the forums on SH though, so the community can be a bit blunt, though I did also learn some valuable tips. For instance, as webnovels are an online format, and most people now access the internet through their phone, you need to write your webnovel in a way that looks food on a phone. Not in a word document on your PC or laptop, because the screen and font sizes will be too different. RR was good, they screen content going on to reduce bots and have some level of quality, and I got a lot of positive comments. I also got a troll that spammed quite a bit and then might have review bombed me when I deleted our back and forth. Again, it can be hard to navigate communities, but overall it was a positive site to use, and my Isekai was doing well. HF is the best I have been on for community, they also run regular workshops and a big summer contest, so it feels like there is more opportunities for engagement. They're also welcoming for BL and GL. I am bias to HF though, so I'd say check out Scribble Hub, Royal Road, and Honeyfeed more than Webnovel and Wattpad, but it's still worth trying all five. You never know, you might just be in the right place at the right time with the right story and really hit it off big. Just make a carrd with all your links on in every bio and release on the same day across all sites to keep your schedule consistent. Don't favour one site over the others with releases unless you decide to make it an exclusive, but I think only Webnovel and Wattpad offer in house exclusivity deals in return for ad-share and tipping monetisation. The rest just let you link your patreon or whatever for donations. A cold case supernatural mystery should do well on any of the sites, even if that element is minor, or something slowly uncovered, having a nod to it in the synopsis and cover will be a hook for readers. It'd have to go in the tags for the genre and such anyway, so people will know, but as it's a well loved trope, supernatural could be a selling point to focus on for marketing at least, even if you still keep it low level in the story. I like the idea of using the side characters and the events around them as a way to monitor your own progress. I do something similar with blocking out events, then aligning them to chapters, but they still often get moved about. And any font is find for editing. I do basically everything in Arial, then Times New Roman for the final draft, because the serifs make the shape of the letters different in just the right way for me. Comic Sans, as it is good for dyslexic readers, might be visually distinct enough for you to focus on what might need editing more, but it could also make it too easy to read and your eyes skim over familiar shapes, rather than being stressed to focus on every letter. Try a few out and see what works best for you though. I'm only speculating. Again, best of luck with the release! I am really looking forward to reading it now~

I'm writing a mystery novel. It's outlined, planned, and in the draft stage. I'm making it a webnovel and want to if people have any tips? What website should an aspiring web-novelist use? What stories do best online?

LitRPG, Fantasy, and Asian based stories due well in my communities. Which one due well in yours? Is cultivation and isekia popular?

I have a lot of questions.

It's scheduled to published in later months in order to have a build up of chapters when I'm too busy to write. Is that a good plan?

That arcs and most of the characters are planned out. Some of the minor characters just have 3 main traits, an ambition, and relation to the main character listed. Is that a good thing to have?

What else should I do?

[n3onguts]

5 times he said i love you. | kim taehyung

summary — different versions of ‘i love you’ told throughout the course of a relationship.

pairing — kim taehyung x f!reader

genre&tags — slice of life au, fluff, angst out of nowhere???, a terrifying lack of plot and direction (i cannot stress enough how unedited this story is. at some point, it got away from me and i just needed to be rid of it), taehyung making terrible choices while drunk, healthy-eating propaganda, pettiness and pride being the pitfall of every relationship, yk how it is

warning(s) — mentions of alcohol consumption and intercourse (but it's chill, they're both adults)

w.c. — bordering on 5k but pretty easy to digest

a/n — yes i have been working on my drafts (!!!), don't really wanna think abt them tho bc my laptop broke like two days ago, right when school's about to start so i'm not doing v good rn :/ anyways i've had this story in my head for a while ever since i read this one fic that used this same format (if i can find it i'll be sure to link the author as my inspo!) so i just wanted to get it out of my system. i'm not rlly a hardcore fan of bts (gotta admit tho... yoongi's passion for making music is so mmmmm), but when i started writing this i used taehyung's name as a filler for the guy character and it kinda just stuck. i hope u still enjoy, and as always, if u have any feedback, i'd love to hear it! :)

i. WHEN HE WHISPERED IT INTO THE NIGHT

Taehyung loves your apartment.

He loves it in the morning. Waking up to the sound of sizzling, of wood against metal, lightly clanging in your kitchen as you whipped up breakfast-for-two. Exiting the comfort of your bedroom to find early solace in the domesticity of the sight before him — you, with your sleep-ridden hair and bare legs peeking out from under an oversized tee. Messy and mussed but still looking oh-so-fucking-angelic, crooning along to your favorite Etta James record playing in the background as the rising sun bathes the scene with its glow. Solid hands wrap around your waist from behind as he rests his head in the crook of your neck. Syrupy kisses come in place of a greeting and contented sighs seep out when you break apart: all he could ever want, and more.

He loves it in the afternoon. Both of you on your lumpy couch in the living room; your head in his lap, his hands in your hair. Everything in its place the way it should be. Happiness is home-grown and laughter permeates the air perpetually. You tap-tap-tap away at your laptop, which rests on your chest. He tries to pay attention to whatever’s on TV, but his eyes always end up on you.

He loves it in the nighttime. Dancing together in front of the bathroom mirror before bed, toothbrush still in mouth. Lights off, lamps on, the safe warmth of your thick comforter enveloping you two. Legs intertwined as your dainty fingers trace his features, like you’re trying to commit a map of him to memory. Minty lips follow to sleepily graze against the trail you’ve left — starting at the top of his forehead, along his cheek, down the bridge of his nose, and, finally, after what feels like eons and then some, pressing onto his patient mouth. The evening does something to you both: honest words are exchanged with less resistance. Admissions of pleasure and confessions of pain spill out after dark, until you both succumb to the exhaustion, bodies interlaced like puzzle pieces.

Taehyung loves your apartment, he really does. He’s told you that numerous times. It’s a lot easier to say than what he actually wants to, but, well, those three goddamn words? They relentlessly attempt to claw out of his throat.

So he waits.

In the dim moonlight, the white noise of the city below acting as the soundtrack to your romance, he waits.

He waits, and when he’s certain you’re fast-asleep — chest gently rising and falling at a measured rate, cheek taking ownership of his chest — Taehyung surrenders to the feeling.

Glancing at you through drowsy eyes, he mouths it in the dark, rapid yet cautious, like a secret and a promise meant only for the night.

I love you.

ii. WHEN HE WAS DRUNK

Friday night — he found himself stuck at some bar, God knows where, struggling to stay upright.

Just one shot, Taehyung's sober self had stupidly claimed. One shot, and I’m done. But once his surroundings had started to go out of focus, and all he could make out were the cheers of his equally-idiotic friends, egging him on, well, how could he not succumb to the cloying pull of his own recklessness?

Alcohol was a shitty lover; it was bittersweet moments interspersed with short-term euphoria and long-term regrets. Side effects almost always included the following: (1) the ill-advised ballooning of his usually-muted ego, (2) a sudden and asinine surge of confidence, and, finally, (3), the mistaken belief that his present actions would have no future consequences, as though tomorrow would never come.

But tomorrow always did, and a half-dead, hungover version of him was always left to fix whatever mess he had made the night before.

Tonight, it seemed that drunk-dialing you was on top of his to-do list of mistakes to make. Clumsily, phone in hand, Taehyung summons your contact number, a familiar feeling of home washing over him once he spots your name at the top of his screen through heavy-lidded eyes.

It’s barely midnight, but half of him expects you’re already passed out, too glued to your bed from exhaustion to pick up. The other half — soft, daring, wishful — hopes that you aren’t.

It takes 3 rings before he hears your sleep-ridden voice hum through his line, “Hey. What’s up?”

For a moment, sobered by a split-second semblance of level-headedness, he hesitates.

“Hello? You there?” You patiently wait for a response, but worry laces your tone. Time to buck up and get this shit over with, he realizes.

Taehyung’s voice is timid, gentle, a juxtaposition to his booming surroundings, which are awash in a red glow and brimming with a sea of sweaty, intoxicated bodies. “Did I wake you?”

“Not really.” He hears you shift in bed, most likely sitting up to focus on the conversation. “Where are you?”

His response comes out slurred and ambiguous. “Um. Out?”

“Ah… you’re drunk.” He mentally curses himself for being so easy to read; you must be so annoyed, having your sleep disrupted by some boozed jackass. Instead, you laugh knowingly, and a wave of calm rolls over him. You don’t hate him, thank God.

Buzzing with a newfound self-assurance, the words start slipping out with much more ease. “Well, just a little.” You laugh again, and he’s grinning now, something wide and goofy and uninhibited.

“That sounds fun,” You murmur. “As long as you’re okay and you’re alive.”

“No—” He sighs dramatically. “I’m in agony. I wish you were here.”

“Oh, really? And why is that?” He can practically envision you as you say this: eyebrow quirked and delicate lips pulling into a faint smirk.

“I miss you less when you’re next to me.”

“O-kay, stupid. You know, you’re cute—” Taehyung pumps his fist in the air in celebration. I’m cute! He rejoices. “But you’re drunk.”

“What?!” He exclaims, and he hears you giggle at his sudden outcry.

Eyelids fluttering at the melodic noise, he imagines you’re seated at the foot of your bed, hugging your knees. Your ear is warm from the phone pressed against it and your toes are curling along your mattress. There’s a glint in your eyes as you speak to him, probably relishing in his current state of ill-advised inebriation. He’s making a fool of himself, he understands that much, but he doesn’t care — he’d run through the streets naked, if you willed it.

“You are, though.”

“I am, yes.” He concedes, nodding ruefully.

Another giggle. God, he’d never get tired of that. “Wonderful. So, do you have any more nice things to say to me while you’re drunk?”

You weren’t taking him seriously — couldn’t, seemingly. You were teasing him, he was sure, but he didn’t want that.

“I’d still miss you if I was sober, you know. Probably more so. The alcohol helps tamp it down a bit.”

“Sure.”

“I kind of wish we were attached by the hip — or, like, I had a leash that I could use to drag you around with me.”

“Oooh… Kinky.” Now it’s his turn to laugh.

“No, hey—”

“Hey.” You interject, voice a bare whisper.

“I…” Taehyung massages his temples out of frustration. He wishes you would just listen. His restlessness has two fingers down his throat, pushing the words out before he’s even ready. “Look, it really doesn’t fucking matter whether I’m at some bar or at your place: I want you next to me always. You haunt me everywhere I go, and I’m tired of trying to escape it. Because, well, um, you know— Shit. I love you, okay? Sober or not. Dead or alive. Stupid or whatever the opposite of stupid is.” He pauses to take a breath. “Me. I’m the opposite of stupid.”

Silence consumes your end of the line, and it implores — no, demands him to fill it. The world around him seems to slow as he rambles on, “That’s why I called you. I wanted to tell you that I love you.” Hope overcomes him. “Fuck, man, do I love you! And I know you think it’s the alcohol talking or whatever — which, sure, yes, Jose Cuervo did help push the words out — but I’ll still wake up tomorrow morning and you will still be my first thought, just the way you are every single fucking day.”

A tense quiet lingers, terrorizing him. Finally, after what feels like a millennium in his drunken stupor: “Smart?”

Your voice is tender, lighthearted, yet simultaneously consoling — he could sense a masked apprehension that you were deliberately trying to keep hidden.

“What?” He eventually stutters out.

“The opposite of stupid is smart.”

Oh. “Yeah. Um. That’s me.”

“Uh…” You begin and he absolutely despises how patronizing you sound. “Let’s just forget about this, okay? I get it: you think you love me and that’s really sweet, but…”

As soothing as your voice attempts to be, it’s a stab in his gut as he realizes that you don’t believe him — or maybe don’t want to.

He doesn’t say anything.

“Um, so, I’m a bit tired, I think I’m gonna go back to bed.”

A monotonous ‘sure’ leaves him reflexively. There’s a numbness that takes root inside of him as he stares straight ahead.

“Take care of yourself, please. Text me tomorrow morning so I know you’re okay, alright?” You hang on for a few more seconds, expecting a half-hearted acknowledgement from him, but you get nothing in return.

Taehyung hears a final, careful ‘bye’ muttered from your end before the line cuts. He lowers his phone down from his ear, resting it on the counter next to him. For some reason, it feels oddly heavy now. Stuck in a daze, he stares at the device like it’s an alien—

What the fuck had he just done?

iii. WHEN HE WAS SURE

“Tae, why would we ever need this much Jjajangmyeon?” You scold as he haphazardly scoops an entire row of instant noodles from the shelf into your shopping cart.

He shrugs, “It’s easy to make — you know I’m shit at cooking. Plus, it’s quick. And filling.”

You give him a withering look. “And full of sodium! Do you want a UTI? I swear to God, if you get sick, I’m not taking care of you.

“You say that but last time I did, you took a 3-day leave from work and rubbed my supposedly-smelly feet until I fell asleep.”

Grunting in response, you huff and he hears you mumble something along the lines of, “But they are smelly.”

You turn away from him to gingerly return the packets back into their place, ignoring his cries of protest when you leave only two behind — one for him and one for you. “Shut up. Why would it matter if you’re shit at cooking? You have me.”

At this, Taehyung smirks, leaning against the shelves like a quintessential rom-com lead. “I do?” He asks, voice dripping with innocence but eyes sparkling with mirth.

Grumbling, you wave a hand to dismiss him and he stumbles back dramatically, as though he’s been shot. You roll your eyes, “Will you behave? I feel like your mother.”

“Are we roleplaying right now?”

“We won’t be tonight if you keep being so annoying.”

“Okay— Sorry, sorry. My bad. Got the message. Behaving now.” He gestures to show that he’s zipping his lips.

He pulls out his phone to check your grocery list for what you two need next, eyes squinting to read the screen. Without missing a beat, you fish in your bag for his glasses and hand it to him. Taehyung pauses to look at the specs in your hand then back at you, before nodding gratefully and accepting them.

“It says we need bread next.” He announces, and you walk ahead to find the aisle containing bread. He maneuvers the cart to follow the route you leave behind as you check the aisle markers, zig-zagging along the pathway like a little pinball machine.

“Here!” You call out. Up ahead, you disappear into one of the aisles, and moments later, he enters said aisle to spot you trying (and subsequently failing) to reach the bread you want on the top shelf. You stop tiptoeing when you see him rush over.

He grabs the nearest loaf, one that’s eye-level to you, and waves it in front of your face, “Why not this one?”

You send him another withering look. “That’s white bread, Tae.”

“And so?”

“It’s super processed.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m young.”

“And you’ll die young if you eat garbage. Will you just get the whole-grain bread I was reaching for?”

“I don’t understand why you’re so concerned about these things — I’m an active guy, I’ll be okay.”

“Well, I’m sorry I care about your health.”

He wants to laugh at the scene before him — you, with your arms crossed and your eyebrows hardening like a petulant child — but he knows that would only irk you even more.

“No— Hey— C’mon.” Taehyung tries to pull you into a hug, but you swerve and swat away his attempts to close the gap between you two. “I’m glad you do. I’m very grateful, actually.”

Your pursed lips melt into a soft pout. “You just— You don’t know what a demon white bread is! I read an article about it the other day, and it’s made of refined grains, Tae! Refined grains.” You explain hysterically, hands buzzing around with the air of someone who's just divulged an incredibly juicy secret. “They’re chock-full of sugar and preservatives! And these preservatives have chemical names that no one ever questions because they can’t understand it, so they just accept it! You can eat a whole loaf in one sitting, Tae. I don’t want you to contract diabetes or something worse.”

When you finish your tirade, you go quiet, and when he looks into your eyes, dark pools he wouldn’t mind drowning in, he can’t tell whether he wants to laugh at your absurd worry over him or cry at your sincerity.

Instead, he smiles. It’s unrestrained, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “That’s a bit of a far reach.”

In one swift movement, Taehyung grabs the loaf you were eyeing earlier and hands it over nonchalantly. “But I do love you. So I’ll try my best not to.”

Perhaps it’s because he’s just said he loves you for the first time — terrifyingly sober, under the harsh fluorescent lights of your local supermarket, after you’ve lectured him about his health and as he casually tries to give you bread — that you stare at him for longer than he’d like, eyes peering like he’s become transparent. But he stands his ground.

He shrugs, tossing the loaf into the metal cart behind you. He thought your inability to respond might bother him, but, surprisingly, it doesn’t. In fact, he doesn’t think he minds much. Taehyung always assumed loving someone with certainty would be like an immediate thing, a singular, specific moment he’d have to seize with confidence or it would pass, leaving him wrecked with nerves and regret. But, as it turns out, certainty could wash over him during the most mundane of instances and love would slide out easily into his words, as though it always belonged. Maybe it had.

“You love me?” You say, and when you do, it almost sounds like a wish. One he’d go to Hell and back to grant.

He looks at you like you’ve just told him that the sky is blue or the Earth is round. “Yeah. Of course, weird-o. Was I not clear enough with my profession of love earlier?

You shake your head as you laugh. “No, you were.”

Taehyung nods, satisfied, moving past you to push the cart in search of the next item on your grocery list. But before he can, he feels a pair of small hands clutch his arm and a face nuzzle into the wide expanse of his back.

“I love you too.” You muffle, voice humming warm air against his sweater. “Which is why I’ll let you get a pack of Oreos.”

“Fuck yeah!”

“But just one.”

iv. WHEN HE WAS SORRY

Stumbling inside your apartment, you rush out of your boots and head straight for your bedroom, locking the door. A few footsteps behind you, Taehyung follows, disgruntled by your brisk pace.

“Y/N!” You can hear him from inside your room, where you’re sat on the bed, staring into space as you try to process what had just ensued during the car ride home from Jin's dinner party.

“Your ‘friend’, huh?” You're staring stonily ahead, eyes carefully fixated onto the cement floor of the car park.

He’s still settling into his seat, shuffling on his seatbelt, too busy to really comprehend the challenge you’ve just initiated. “What?”

“When Jisoo asked you to introduce us, you said, and I quote, ‘Oh, this is my friend, Y/N.’ You called me your friend.” Gone is the acidity that laced your tone mere moments ago, replaced by an almost mechanical voice, something carefully constructed to mask feeling.

Taehyung stops what he’s doing to look up, finally taking notice of your cold demeanor. He frowns, “But you are my friend.”

“So that’s all I am to you? Just your friend?” You whip your head to face him now, fully, arms crossed. You’re devoid of emotion as you await an answer from him. He, on the other hand, looks utterly confused.

“What— No, of course not—”

“No, you were right. We’re friends. We are.” You cut him off. “Just friends. You’re correct.”

“I didn’t mean anything by—”

“I know. Which is why it’s no biggie.” You shrug, switching from robotic to indifferent. He can’t decide which is worse. “Let’s go home. I’m tired.”

You turn away, finished with the conversation, but he isn’t.

“I don’t understand— You were in such a good mood at dinner. What the fuck is happening?”

Looking at him again, you smile now, a sedative Taehyung won't fall for. “Nothing. Nothing’s happening. Can you start the car now? It’s freezing.”

Frustrated, he shuts up and does as he’s told, punching the keys into the ignition. You two sit in aggressive silence as he exits the car park.

The city roads are relatively bare, save for a few trucks driving along the highway. Passing street lamps illuminate your face in intervals, and every so often he looks over to check on you. When the car reaches a stop light at an intersection, he speaks up.

“I didn’t mean anything by it. Honest. I didn’t.” His phrasing is wary, but heartfelt. So much so you almost want to put the matter to rest.

But pride is the only thing you’ve ever known — your child, a monster you’ve nursed back to health when wounded and fed when starved. You’ll be damned if you back down now.

“Right. It’s okay. We’re fine. I swear.” It’s terrifying how easily these lies breeze out of your mouth, without so much as a pause.

“I mean— We never had a discussion about our label— I just assumed—”

“I get it. No harm, no foul. We’re friends.”

“It was just automatic in my head, and I don’t know why. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

At this, you let out a cruel laugh. “Jesus, Tae, let’s not jump to conclusions here. Don’t assume I even care enough about you to get hurt by something as stupid as that.”

His face contorts as though he’s been bitten. “I understand that you’re mad, but you don’t have to be so unnecessarily mean.”

“I’m not being mean. I said I get it, right? You think our situation is too difficult to explain and blah, blah, blah. Now, can you focus on the road?”

When the traffic light turns to green, he steps on the gas pedal. Any and all discussion is once more extinguished, up until you reach the warm basement parking lot of your apartment building.

You’re gathering your things, about to head out of the car door, when you feel his hand pull at yours.

“I really had no ill intent when I said that. You’ve just always been my friend, so I had no other word for what we are now.”

You twist your head to see him, eyebags accentuated in the shadows, pleading with you to understand. You grip him tightly back, a sickeningly sweet smile etched onto your lips, “Like I said, we don’t have to discuss this anymore. We are friends, Tae, you were right.”

“But—”

“We’re friends— I’m your friend! The friend whose bed you spend more nights in than your own. The friend who knows that you brush your teeth in a specific order because that’s how your grandma taught you when you were nine— Or that your favourite compliment is when people tell you that you look like your dad because he’s your idol. I’m that friend! The friend who takes off from work the minute she hears you’re sick, who learns how to make Japchae exactly how your mom did. The friend who’s held you when you’ve cried, cleaned up your sick when you’ve gotten drunk, and swallowed your goddamned cum! The friend you fucking said ‘I love you’ to! Just fucking friends!”

Your furious shouts echo throughout the empty space, bouncing from wall to wall so that even when you've finished your rant, eyes frenzied and hands done flying, Taehyung can still hear your words create a cavern of guilt in his chest.

Fast-forward back to the present moment: there's a knot in your heart as you get ready for bed. Looking at your reflection in the mirror as you brush your teeth, you wonder, is loving someone supposed to be this hard?

“Y/N, please. I’m sorry. Open up.”

You gargle the last of the water in your cup and spit, wiping your mouth and smoothing down your pajamas as you head for the door. Opening it up, you assume a pleasant facade.

“What’s up? Sorry for the wait, I was changing.”

If your nonchalance deters him, he doesn’t show it. “I’m sorry. I realized I never said that. I’m sorry I called you my friend— I wish I hadn’t.”

“Tae, I told you, it’s not a big deal, we’re goo—”

“No, we’re not.” He runs a tired hand through his hair. “If you had introduced me as your friend, I’d feel fucking terrible. I’d feel so put out.”

You stay quiet, and you don’t want to, but you can feel yourself cracking.

“Friends don’t say I love you like that. And I love you like that. I’m sorry.”

You let a sigh escape. Your mom once told you that you housed a terrible anger, one you’d hold onto no matter how exhaustive it could be. But when he looks at you like that — disarmingly earnest in his sorrow, like wounding you wounds him — you want to raise a white flag in surrender, want to promise him you’ll do everything in your power to douse your pride.

You rest your forehead onto his chest and you hear him exhale in relief. He envelopes his arms around you (a cocoon you think you never want to leave), burying his nose into your hair.

“I should’ve just called you what you are: my girlfriend.” Taehyung whispers, a final reparation. “You’re my girlfriend, right?”

You pray no hesitance bleeds out into your words. “I’m your girlfriend.”

v. WHEN HE TRIED TO HOLD ON

“You’re my girlfriend.”

“I know.”

“And I’m your boyfriend.”

“I know.”

“So if you know, then why—” Taehyung exhales out of his nose. “You can’t treat people this way, Y/N.”

“I know.”

He’s standing across the room, arms crossed as he berates you. You really want him to leave, but if he did, you’re certain you’d run after him. You also want him to hold you, but if he did, you’re sure you’d only push him away. Feelings are stupid like that.

You poke craters into your lumpy mattress, chin resting in between your raised knees. Parts of you feel guilty, and perhaps that’s why you’re avoiding his gaze. But you’re also stubborn. I’m entitled to be selfish about my pain, you think.

“You’re supposed to— Why won’t you—” Lots of words swim in his chest. Taehyung wishes he could just reach inside and pull out the right ones, because all of the ones he uses only make you seem farther away. “You can’t keep doing this, Y/N.”

“Doing what?” You spit out, all poison. Why? You wonder. You’re clearly in the wrong here.

“This.” He gestures towards you like it’s obvious. “Holing up in your own little world, refusing to let anyone else in. And then when I come to you to try and understand, you make me feel like I’ve done something wrong.”

You open your mouth to say haughtily that he hasn’t, but you’re cut off.

“God, Y/N, you know— It’s actually fine that you’re like this. I don’t mind if you shut everyone out, don’t mind if you’re hard to reach, because I’ll put in that effort. You expect me to give and give and give, and you know what? That’s fine. It’s fine with me. I’ll say sorry first, I’ll concede, I’ll swallow my ego, I’ll let you win. I don’t mind.”

You fiddle with your bedsheets, eyes fixated on them so hard you think you might burn a hole through. You shouldn’t be, but for some reason, you’re irritated that he’s confronting you with all your wrongdoings and letting you get away with it.

“I don’t mind! Really, I don’t. I’ll let you do whatever. That’s how much I love you.” He runs a hand through his hair, exasperated. “All I ask for in return is that when I knock on the door of this little cage you’ve built for yourself, you let me squeeze in beside you.” His voice tapers off, “I’ll make myself small, won’t be a bother— Won’t even take up that much space, really. I just want to be in there with you. That’s all I want. That’s not much, is it?”

You want to tell him you’ve always lived like this — behind a smoke screen, inaccessible, like connection is a tap you can just turn on and off. Hurts less that way.

When you glance at him, guilt swells. Did you do this to him? Taehyung’s face looks worn; his eyes, desperate. A flicker of sadness pierces through your gut. You let him infiltrate your life, carve out a designated space for himself in your daily routine, and when he tells you he loves you, drunk, you refuse to believe it; he tells you again when he’s sober and you still can’t. You hate it when he introduces you as his friend, but get scared when he refers to you as his girlfriend.

You don’t know when it all turned to shit. Maybe it started during that week he was too busy to contact you, and you retaliated by ignoring him for the next two. Maybe it was because of that time he called you ‘difficult to be with’, and how no matter how many times he apologized, you couldn’t prevent that cancerous little seed of insecurity from burrowing itself in your mind. Or maybe it’s always been shit, and you’ve just been too spellbound to look at things with a clear head.

You try to absolve yourself of any blame, try to convince him as well as yourself: “I never asked you to do any of that. You did that to yourself.”

His hands implore you to see reason. “But that’s what a relationship is. You don’t ever have to ask— I’ll still be here anyway, still be waiting. That’s what loving someone is.”

There’s a phenomenon in psychology known as Stockholm Syndrome: it’s when a kidnapping victim forms an emotional bond with their captor. It seems irrational, unlikely. How could anyone fall for a person who’s hurt them? Defend them like none of that pain ever happened? But people do it everyday, you realize. People settle — they make compromises, they let themselves get stepped on, they excuse their chest aching as part of loving someone.

You let Taehyung’s words drift into the cold air of the room. The scene has slowed down. He’s sitting now, on the edge of the bed, and he looks like a husk of himself, as though getting all those words out has sucked him dry. You look outside of your window and notice that it’s drizzling.

“Did you bring a coat?”

“Huh?” He follows your line of sight. “No, I didn’t.”

“You can borrow my umbrella.”

From your position on the bed, you watch the rain fall, and from the corner of your eye, you see him tilt his head at you, like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to figure out.

“Don’t you ever get tired?” When you inquire, it comes out casual, without the cadence of the argument you just had.

“Of?”

“Being here. Waiting.” A pause. “Loving, I guess.”

Taehyung shakes his head firmly, obediently, like he’s confident his love will be enough for the both of you. “No. Never.”

The next time you speak, you can hear two hearts break. “I do.”

[ashkazora]

Ashka’s Basic Tagging Guide for ao3

Tagging is annoying. I personally hate it. But for anyone struggling to tag their fics, this is a helpful little guide I’ve made for basic tagging. Please note, this is just a guide, not a rulebook! This is generally how I’ll tag all of my fics before adding some fandom-specific stuff. 

Without further ado, here’s the guide:

Character Tags

First, let’s start with the character tags. In general, it’s best to tag characters in level of importance, and only tag characters that play a major role. Since ao3 now has a tagging limit, for fics featuring a massive cast tagging only the most important characters is best. 

If you want to convey that everyone is in the fic, I suggest tagging the main characters, and then using ensemble tags to reduce overtagging (i.e. Voltron: Legendary Defender Team; Attack on Titan Ensemble; Class 1A; and other fandom-specific large cast tags).  

Also, if your fic features a self insert or original characters, tag it. If it features y/n formats, tag it. Can be done as such:

NOTE: y/n can also be placed in the characters section.

Relationship tags:

I cannot stress this enough. Please only tag the major relationships in the fic. If there are side relationships, use the tag Minor/background relationships, and use the Background/Minor [SHIP] in the general tags section. 

For example, if I’m writing a Klance fanfiction but there are mentions of Romellura and Hunay, here’s how I would tag it:

Tagging ships that are in the background or that are only mentioned sparingly in the Relationships section is incredibly frustrating for readers looking for specific ship content. 

Furthermore, for poly relationships, it’s best to tag [CHARACTER]/[CHARACTER]/[CHARACTER] rather than three sets of [CHARACTER]/[CHARACTER], unless there is an established relationship prior to the poly.

Moreover, if there is multiple ships for the same person with only one ending up as endgame, in the Additional Tags section, it’s polite to add Endgame [SHIP] tag so that people are aware what they are reading. 

As example, for a fic that starts with Izuku/Uraraka, and ends up being poly Iida/Izuku/Uraraka, this is how I’d tag it:

And remember: [CHARACTER]/[CHARACTER] is for ships. [CHARACTER]&[CHARACTER] is for friendships. 

General Tags

These tags should be about how the story is written, and are incredibly helpful for readers looking for specific things.

- POV First/Second/Third While ao3 is disproportionately 3rd POV, tagging POV may appeal to certain readers and is a good courtesy, especially for 1st/2nd POV fics. 

- Happy/Ambiguous/Open/Sad ending A good tag to let the readers know what they’re getting into. Can be combined with other tags (i.e. Angst with a Happy Ending).

- Podfic For all podfics. 

- Chatfic/Chatlogs For all fics that employ texting as a means of storytelling

- Mixed media This tag is great for fics that incorporate various forms for storytelling, such as texting, images, newspaper articles, interview transcripts, art, comics, etc. 

Mood Tags

In general, mood tags should be used for the main themes/moods of the fic. 

- Angst If characters goes through a bad times and there’s angst as a main theme, tag it. 

- Hurt/comfort If your fic has hurt/comfort, use this. An alternative is hurt/no comfort. 

- Whump According to urban dictionary, whump is: Taking a character and putting them through physical and/or mental torment and is typically followed by the same character being treated for their traumas. If this applies, tag it.

- Fluff For fics that are sweet, light and ‘fluffy.’ 

Setting Tags

Tags used for the setting of your fic. 

- Canon compliant Use this tag for all fics that are compliant with the media canon, such as missing scene fics, or a post-story fic.

- Canon divergent This tag is for all fics that diverge from the canon storyline, where alternate events from canon have taken place.

- Alternate universe - modern setting  Have a coffee shop fic? Have something set in modern times? Use this. You may also do another tag for more specific settings (i.e. Alternate universe - Coffee Shop), however this tag should be used for all modern setting fics. 

- Alternate universe - [MEDIA] fusion Used for fics that have the characters of one media, but use settings, characters, plots, etc. from another.

- Inspired by [MEDIA] explanatory. 

- [MEDIA] Spoilers For fics containing spoilers, usually of the ending of a show, a latest episode/season/chapter, etc. This is a very important tag.

Character Specific Tags

Sometimes it’s best to put character specific tags if your fic focusses on a character! This list is just a basic one, but really helps people find specific niches in fics. - [CHARACTER]-centric If your fic focusses mainly on one character, then this tag is crucial.  - [CHARACTER] angst/whump If your fic focusses on one character’s angst and/or whump, use this tag. - [CHARACTER] bashing I cannot stress this enough, but if your fic bashes a character, then tag it. Untagged character bashing is painful, and not a good experience for readers. 

Summary

Using all of this info, I’ve created a random tag list for a random fic here:

You can see that I’ve tagged crucial things: what the fic is, who’s the important characters, the contents, setting, etc. However, once you’ve done the base things, feel free to add fandom-specific tags or other miscellaneous things that may be important. Hell, add a joke tag or two, if you want. Tags like No Beta We Die Like [CHARACTER]; [CHARACTER]’s A+ Parenting, etc. are such tags. 

There are so many other tags you can use, and this is really just the basics. Every fandom has their own flair to tags which can’t be covered on a simply tumblr post, so do your research, and most importantly, have fun fic writing!

In general, i’d avoid overtagging, however if you believe something is necessary to a fic, tag it. Other than that, go wild. 

Hope this helps!

[raymondebidochonlifechoices]

All fans are equal but some are more equal than others. NOT.

There’s been quite a few people in the fandom lately getting very stressed, feeling they’re obligated to constantly be on the defensive re: their fandom choices.

Apparently, whoever has a different opinion about a character or a ship must be said character’s/ship’s stan i.e. overzealous and/or obsessive, i.e. not an objective viewer. Even worse, they must be a dreadful person, who condones a number of moral offences that said character/ship perpetrated (or is thought to have perpetrated). Because, of course, the only acceptable reason for appreciating/enjoying a fictional character or dynamic is their morality. And, by that reasoning, fans who support the correct character/ship must be better fans and better people.

Nothing is more ridiculous than the notion of the objective fan. An “objective” fan is called a “viewer”. You and I, Riverdale friends, we are not just viewers. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have created blogs and dedicated hours of our lives to a fictional couple from an extremely mediocre show. We are still undoubtedly capable of critical thought and objective analysis but we are also aware of our own emotional investment in the show. (Or, at least, one hopes). As a fandom, we engage in activities that exist independently of the show. Fandom is a space of free expression. No one gets to play the higher moral card here. Needing to loudly tell everybody how wrong they are? That’s not the sign of an objective viewer. That’s the sign of a viewer who is also extremely invested, just for different reasons than I am.

Are we seriously holding the morality card over people’s heads for a show that used a poc woman’s pregnancy (Toni) as the means to retroactively establish trauma for a white male (Kevin), all the while touting it in every media possible as a woke response to the BLM movement?!

Are we seriously holding the canon card over people’s heads for a show that treats its 5th(!) season as a tabula rasa?! If the Lodges new backstory in 5x12 shows anything, it’s that s5 is not a time-jump. It’s a reboot.

There are so many people “enlightening” others on their inability to understand canon …

Seriously? That’s the hill you’re willing to die on? Canon Riverdale? You think that people don’t understand what they’re watching? That they’re interpreting canon incorrectly?

No, but seriously: canon for a TV show consists of what the characters say, what the characters do and how the actors portray them. Does this really apply to Riverdale?

Let’s take Donna for example.

Canon explicitly tells us Donna did what she did to avenge her grandmother. At the same time none of her canon actions were against the people who were actually responsible. So, riddle me this, fandom friends: why did Donna do what she did, as per canon?

Let’s try this another way:

Donna is a psycho bitch. Both in terms of Riverdale’s canon (the writers’ intention) and real-life criteria. To create a tag that reads “Bonna for ever uwu!” is deranged.

On the other hand, her character is (like a lot of Riverdale’s characters) an inconsistent caricature. Canon uses ridiculous dialogue and a lot of the Bonna scenes are cartoonishly enemies-to-lovers tropey. To create a tag that reads “Bonna for ever uwu!” is hilarious.

This doesn’t mean that Bonna is a canon couple. It does mean, however, that a Bonna crackship is based on Riverdale’s campy and over-the-top canonic writing.

A viewer who thinks Bonna is disgusting is not more “objective” or more “correct” or more “true to canon” than a viewer who thinks Bonna is funny. Nor are they a better person for it, and this cannot be stressed enough.

Similarly, who is canon Cheryl?

1. Cheryl is an absolute bitch: if a privileged student was calling an actual homeless boy a hobo in your real-life school, you would neither think her a queen nor use “hobo” affectionately in your tags, comments etc.

2. Cheryl is a deeply traumatized person: her father killed her brother, her mother killed half the town and forced her in conversion therapy, she attempted suicide and more.

(Note #1: this more does not mean more than the other Riverdale characters).

(Note #2: nor is it an excuse for her rudeness, affectionately called “mood for chaos” by the writers).

3. Cheryl is also a caricature of the archetypal mean girl who’s there for laughs and meta comments. She’s not to be taken seriously.

4. Cheryl is lgbtq+ representation …

5. … who canonically shits on other lgbtq+ characters.

6. Cheryl is one half of Choni, who are canonically presented as an uber couple.

7. Choni is also, as per canon, a couple with an acute power imbalance (cough!gaslighting!cough) that visually very clearly panders to the male gaze.

But most importantly:

8. Cheryl canonically is not the sum of her parts. The different facets of her character do not intermingle in any meaningful way.

Was Betty kissing Archie specifically a sore spot for Jughead?

Canonically no [2x14]. But, also, canonically yes [5x03, 5x10].

Are there seriously fans that are astonished that Betty is making some highly questionable choices while investigating?! Did they just discover Dark™Betty/Killer Genes Betty? That is canon Betty! Was it ok before because she was then smooching Jughead instead of giving him the cold shoulder? Honestly, the only newly outrageous part of s5Dark™Betty is the fact that she still believes in “killer genes” despite having spent 4 years at Yale …

As for liking/disliking Betty and morality …

Look, I’m going to be very honest: I am NOT particularly enjoying s5 Betty. And it’s not because of b*rchie.

S5 Betty has 99 problems but the sexcapades ain’t one.

For me, it’s the fact that she’s turned into s1 Alice 2.0. But surely that’s not news either? Ever since the first info about the time jump, everyone and their mother have been speculating about the teens becoming their parents …

Just because Jughead is better written (and written to be more likable), it doesn’t make him more worthy of redemption. Just because the writers are keeping Betty’s redemption “secret” (insert eye roll) for their big reveal in the season’s penultimate episode, it doesn’t mean she won’t have one.  

Simply put, the writers have made Jughead more likable. He’s still the underdog. He’s the only character in Riverdale actively trying to deal with his trauma, since the very first post-time jump episode (working at Pop’s explicitly to fend off the debt collectors). He has scenes with a new and extremely likable character (Tabitha). He has the only new plot line (the Mothman). Said plotline is narratively already tied to both his unknown past and the town’s destruction by Hiram. His behaviour is explicitly explained, even as his recent trauma remains unknown. He’s transparent.

In comparison, s5 Betty is traumatized but not the underdog. Her trauma (TBK killer) is both known to us and a repetition of previous storylines, which makes it narratively less exciting. She is completely disconnected from any other storylines. She comes out as being judgmental and self-interested: telling Tabitha Jughead’s not her business while previously accepting his help? Berating Polly for lying while not keeping in touch and lying about her own life (TBK)? Please note: I’m not saying there isn’t a reason behind her behaviour, just that it comes out in a negative way.

You don’t like Betty’s current behaviour? You don’t consider trauma a good enough excuse? Cool.

You feel sorry for what she’s going through? You consider trauma to be a valid explanation for her behaviour? Also cool.

Personally, I don’t give a flying fig, either for Betty’s trauma or Jughead’s. Because, even though Trauma™ is s5’s actual mystery plot, narratively speaking, trauma never affected the plot of the past 4 seasons, nor s5 trauma will affect future plots, once revealed. And you know what? That is also cool.

None of the above is better.

And just because I’m not enjoying Betty right now, it doesn’t mean that I don’t want her to overcome her current situation or that I won’t cheer for Bughead like a River Vixen on fizzle rocks, once they reunite.

This thing though, where people are made to feel as if they owed anyone in the fandom an explanation about why they like the things they like, because, somehow, their preferences are a reflection on their character or their cognitive abilities to read a TV show? This is a joke.

There is no “wrong” way to consume any show, let alone Riverdale, with its fractured format, its short-term memory and its see-sawing characters.

Look, everybody’s here for their own reasons. For most people this is a place of escape. No one’s escaping better than the other, because of how they enjoy their teen TV show ... 

[tiredbiostudent]

i love seeing your posts it's very motivating. if you dont mind me asking, do you have any advice for studying (or tricks you use for urself) ((it's v vague sorry))!!!

hi, thank you! honestly I am absolutely awful at studying but I will try to provide some helpful tips:

1. watching university vloggers always makes me feel more motivated to do work! my favourites atm are nayna florence, moya mawhinney, paigeyy (her old cambridge vlogs bc I think she’s graduated now), linh truong, and may gao 2. I have a really hard time getting started so sometimes you just need to be like alright I can at LEAST open up this pdf or assignment. and I can at LEAST create a new word document and write out what I have to do. and occasionally this tricks your brain into actually starting ;) 3. when you plan a study schedule, give yourself at least one free day where you have nothing planned bc at least for me I will absolutely need it. don’t cram your days full of unrealistic things to do! 4. take advantage of your productive moods, but also don’t be too hard on yourself when you’re feeling super tired or burnt out or unproductive. you can also try and flip your productivity switch on (tho this is hit or miss) by doing less taxing stuff like going on a walk, making your bed, watering your plants- any task that makes you feel like you’re accomplishing something 5. have a hobby and life outside of school. easier said than done, but this will really help alleviate the stress and anxiety you feel when something goes wrong academically and that’s the only “important” thing you feel like you have in life. take time for yourself to learn new things, relax, spend time with friends, be in nature, exercise. all about balance baby! 6. study based on what your exam will test you on. if it’s short answer, study the material but also practice writing out example answers. if it’s matching labels to diagrams, practice that! go beyond just writing out your notes, try and fit your studying method to the format of your test. it helps s o much. 7. similarly, ALWAYS DO THE REVIEW QUESTIONS. if you have no time to do anything else, DO THESE!!! I’ve been burned so many times because I feel obligated to retype out all my notes (bc I have to have everything altogether) and run out of time to do the practice questions my prof gives, and those are always the most relevant to what you’ll be tested on. hell, do these before anything else. cannot stress this enough lol!!!! 8. don’t do the readings unless you NEED to or it helps you learn. otherwise it’s a waste of time (and money for a textbook!) imo 9. switch up where you study. unfortunately this isn’t really feasible right now but I find I’m most productive at the library- at your university (if you go) try to find your favourite study spots, and have a few you can cycle through! for me it’s the lifesci commons, law library and the comp sci building because they’re chill, productive atmospheres (as opposed to the SUB or the health sci building, which are too loud and too intense respectively) 10. keep your phone out of sight lol. and get one of those browser locks like forest to dissuade you from getting distracted. for me it’s more of a split second compulsion to check and once there’s a barrier in my way I’m like oh. nvm. 11. my personal note-taking method is taking written notes in lecture of anything important that’s not on the slides. usually your prof will emphasize the important of a topic too! but if they don’t, pay attention to what they’re spending a lot of time going over. after class I’ll add my written notes to the lecture to supplement it and better explain everything we covered. (for virtual lectures, I basically have the slides open in one half of my screen and the lecture in the other and type notes onto the slides as it plays) 12. practice explaining concepts to yourself out loud- this is a great way to see if you’ve actually understood the material! if you can do this once solidly, you’re good to go and it’ll stick in your brain for a while. 13. also try and make connections between topics you’ve covered because often this is what profs like to ask about on exams (cough ~synthesis~). for instance, recognizing that keratin composes tissues in birds, mammals, reptiles, etc. 14. if you’ve been working hard or having a stressful time buy yourself a nice warm drink because you deserve it! :) 15. this one’s a little weird but if you need to remember something like what the foundational traits of vertebrates are, focus on memorizing how many you need to know! if I know there’s 6 of something I need to remember, it makes recalling them SO much easier 16. if you’ve been sitting down studying for a while take a break to just jump tf around your room. you could also go on a walk I guess but jumping is more fun. 17. it’s good to get a reminder of why you’re in school and what makes you passionate about what you’re studying to drive you to keep going. for me I love to watch nature documentaries or go on hikes or look through field guidebooks or read really neat academic papers :) 18. for the love of god please get enough sleep.

I also have a whole tag of #study tips that is 1000% more helpful than what I can provide so definitely take a look through there! good luck, you got this :) ps sorry this got so long winded lol I hope it helps!

[sylvies-chen]

ok so I watched The Eternals tonight and even though I got back from the movie theatre nearly three hours ago I haven’t made this post until now because I was a) processing the absolutely WONDERFUL movie I just saw and b) fawning over it with my lovely Maria @just-fandomthings who is tagging me in some Eternals stuff I’m going to be reblogging the crap out of very soon! So keep an eye out for a lot of Marvel related content and if that’s not your thing then sorry in advance for the spam. But first, it’s time to sing praises for this movie:

(WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS)

Overall, this movie was probably the one I felt least followed a generic Marvel format. It left a certain amount of surprise and unpredictability which was very enjoyable. Everything about it felt very unique and different from what Marvel’s done before: from the camera angles to the STUNNING visual effects and costumes, to the plot development, it was all special. Even the dialogue and the dynamics between the characters were different and felt much more matured. The conflict was even something refreshing and new because evem though I’m fully on the “Ikaris was just some whiny dude who was obsessed with Sersi yet never fully respected her power and authority” train, his argument wasn’t completely invalid. It was just… his opinion. The way he went about it was all wrong, but his belief itself wasn’t the problem which is why we hardly think anything of Kingo for saying “I don’t agree with what you guys are doing but I refuse to fight you” and then leaving. I mean, have we EVER seen a Marvel movie do that before? No, never! They’ve had movies based on the exact opposite of that. Granted, the characters in this movie have had thousands of years to grow and mature so maybe they have an advantage to the lovable asshat that we call Tony Stark, but it was still so interesting to see power dynamics and general conflict explored like that.

Also, and I cannot stress this enough: DRUIG AND MAKKARI ARE EVERYTHING TO ME. Even through their limited screentime I have never fallen for MCU characters more quickly (except maybe Yelena) than these two. Makkari being a deaf character, I was (depressingly) expecting for her to be a throwaway character or a one-off kind of deal, but getting to see her in action and leading her into more action in the MCU was such a lovely surprise! Druig also won me over in a heartbeat. Watching him with Makkari was so sweet because they’re friends, they’re equals, they’re partners. That unbreakable bond there was portrayed really well in such a short amount of time. Oh, and Makkari’s raw scream when she thought Druig was dead? The way she went HAM on Ikaris as soon as she thought he killed Druig? Yeah, that shit both killed me and impressed me at the same time. If you’d seen me in the theatres you would have seen me crying while clapping and cheering my ass off. The visuals for her speedy powers in that scene were really well done and not only that, but watching her channel all that rage and kick that guy’s ass when he was referred to several times by everyone else as the strongest of them all was AMAZING. SO CATHARTIC. I have no choice but to stan. And my brain has been replaying “my beautiful, beautiful Makkari” for the past two hours. Both as individuals and as a ship, my love for them was on sight ‼️🥰

Thena and Gilgamesh’s friendship was also really sweet and that was the other instance of “woman going absolutely haywire because their soulmate is presumed and/or actually dead” lol. Gil was really the only one with the kind heart and patience to take care of her, to handle her when needed but to be understanding of her and take his time. That loss was devastating for her but ultimately pushed her to be stronger. And I think there’s a large component of Thena’s journey being about taking back her mind and bodily autonomy, which was really empowering and beautiful to watch. The women in this movie are amazing and are really the stars. (Although I will say: it was really refreshing watching a movie where they let their male characters cry!! And we had Phastos and his husband as MLM rep with a happy family and everything too!! My heart!!)

Anyway, this has probably all been said before but I don’t even care. I loved that movie and I’m a huge MCU nerd so I figured you folks, my lovely followers, could bear with me while I let my thoughts out. So yes! I really liked this film! There was some pacing issues which I cut them slack for because it was a long movie and they had a lot of bases to cover, and I would have appreciated if they put the time & location stamps as soon as they made the jumps just because some of them were delayed and had me confused for a second, but these are very minor things and all in all, the pros FAR outweigh the cons. It was a great movie: unique in every aspect, visually stunning, beautiful family dynamics and intriguing power dynamics, and a wonderful introduction to the world of the Eternal, Deviants, and Celestials!

[lesetoilesfous]

“You said you’d let them go” for Fenders with past Handers or FenHawke?

Aaaaaah I had too much fun with this one, I hope you like it!!!

Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Prompt: You said you would let them go

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Fenris, Anders, Evil/Red Garrett Hawke

Warnings: Implied Abuse, Physical Abuse, Graphic Depiction of Injury

Additional Tags: Angst with a Bittersweet Ending, post DA2

Fenris is trekking through the Vimmark Mountains when he’s ambushed by Hawke, his pet mage and a group of nearly fifty mercenaries. Rain is falling, heavy and grey around them, and the trees on the slopes are tugged so violently by the wind that they move fluidly, like kelp in the sea. Fenris draws his sword, stepping back in the muddy path as he tries to spot a weak point in the mercenary’s formation. Nothing is immediately apparent but then, he supposes it wouldn’t be. Garrett Hawke didn’t go in for second rate hirelings.

Hawke steps forward, and Fenris hates the part of himself that quails when he does so - the part that knows with a terrible, dreadful finality that he is unlikely to win a swordfight with Garrett Hawke. Behind Hawke, Anders looks thin and exhausted as he ever has, his coat hanging even looser than usual over his shoulders. But his expression of resigned boredom transmutes into sudden, painful shock when he makes eye contact with Fenris.

Fenris can’t help it, he stares.

Above them, thunder booms in the sky as clouds embrace the mountain. Anders grabs at Hawke’s arm, ignoring the shorter, stronger man when he shakes him off. “You said you’d let him go.” Fenris stares, ears twitching as cold rain drops fall from the tips to his neck, unable to believe he’d heard correctly. But Anders grabs at Hawke again, pulling him off balance, and Fenris knows he should be making his move, now, whilst he still can, but he feels as if his feet are rooted in place. Anders speaks again, face pale and taut with lines of stress. “Garrett, you promised me you’d let him go.”

Hawke’s lips pull back from his teeth in a snarl a split second before he wheels and punches Anders in the face. Anders stumbles backwards, spitting blood into the long, thick, dark green grass. But he doesn’t straighten and tumble into the punch in return in the way that Fenris expects him to - the way he’d seen him do more than a dozen times in The Hanged Man after starting a barfight by shouting too loudly about the plight of the mages.

Instead, Anders hunches as Hawke turns to him - and again, Fenris should leave, he could easily fell any of the remaining mercenaries, he should go now whilst he still can. But he stares, instead, as Garrett grabs a fistful of Anders’ wet hair, the colour of old gold in the rain, and shakes him, hard. “You don’t get to talk to me like that, mage. Understand?”

Anders says nothing, and the rain falls around them, and Fenris stares, transfixed by this strange tableau. But then, eventually, the apostate’s body eases in a submission that Fenris can feel with aching familiarity in his own shoulders. “Yes, ser.”

Garrett grins, and uses his fist in Anders’ hair to press a punch of a kiss to his lips. Anders’ body is stiff and limp in his arms - not pulling away, but not responding, either. Rain drips cold down Fenris’ nose, and plasters his hair to his forehead. Then Garrett lets go of Anders, and turns and claps his hands, and the sound is loud even in the rain and growing thunder, and Anders flinches, hard.

Fenris adjusts his grip on the cloth wrapped around the hilt of his sword, and stares warily up at the human man in front of him. Garrett smiles, wolfish and bright and terribly handsome. “Now, where were we?”

Fenris braces himself, thinking - at least if I die now, I go down fighting. He thinks at least if I die now, I die free.

But then there’s a sudden flash of blue light, and Hawke collapses into the grass. Everything after this happens very fast. Anders draws a paralysis glyph with his finger in the air above Hawke’s body, and the glyph erupts with golden light. The mercenaries charge forward - half of them going for Fenris, the rest heading for Anders. Anders flings himself down to the thick grass, slamming his hands into the earth, and a crescent of ice erupts from the ground, skewering half a dozen of them. Then he turns, hair flinging rain drops around his head like crystals hanging on golden chains. “Fenris, GO!”

Fenris stares and wonders whether he’s dreaming. But then one of the mercenaries gets close enough to hit him with their warhammer, and Fenris is parrying without thinking, slicing straight through the wooden shaft of their weapon and taking their head off with it. Blood sprays, hot and salty across his face, and Fenris falls into the familiar rhythm of battle, heels slipping through the mud and wet grass. Below them, way below, Nevarra is a cradle of distant cities and wide, dark plains.

At some point in the fight, Fenris’ back slams up against someone else’s, and he whirls and barely stops himself from splitting Anders in two - Anders, who now that he’s this close he can see has a new scar on his cheek. Anders, who grins at him despite the pink blood on his teeth and the way his body’s shaking. “Just like old times!”

Fenris wants to ask whether he’s lost his mind, but then a mercenary comes at him with two swords drawn, and he has to focus.

When they’re done, panting and exhausted, both of them are covered in blood and viscera. Anders’ staff is splintered and one of his fingers is hanging crooked. Fenris is blessedly, miraculously unscathed, saved for a few scrapes and bruises which he doubts he’ll notice in the time they take to heal. Hawke is still unconscious, and Anders has renewed his paralysis glyph twice. Fenris doesn’t hesitate, marching across the slope of corpses towards the man he’d once considered a friend. Anders yelps, and runs across the grass towards him, feet slipping in the mud.

“Fenris, wait!”

Despite his better judgement, Fenris stops, lyrium bleeding white at the edges of his vision like a lightning spell. “You cannot tell me that you wish him to live.”

Anders stops and stares, jaw tightening, eyes clouded as he looks down at Hawke. When he looks up at Fenris, there’s a terribly familiar grief in his face. “I love him.”

Fenris ignores the way his stomach lurches. “No. You don’t.”

Then he bends, and plunges his hand into Hawke’s chest, and crushes his heart. By the time his fingers have found the warm meat of it, Anders is shouting, but the action is done when Anders tackles him, throwing him into the grass and swinging a fist at his face. Fenris grits his teeth and takes the blow, expecting more. But Anders stops, frozen and sobbing over him as the storm continues to grow, lightning striking the mountains above them and Nevarra below them. “You. You killed him.” Anders manages to say through quick, choked breaths.

Fenris meets his eyes. “I did.” He says, firmly. Anders chokes and reels back and away from him, scrambling backwards in the grass, eyes wide and half-crazed. With a grunt, Fenris sits up, rubbing his jaw. The mage did, at least, still know how to throw a punch. There’s something reassuring about that.

“Are you going to kill me too?”

Fenris shakes his head, and reaches into his belt for a flask of wine. He ought to have water on his belt and wine in his pack, he supposes. But he finds himself often in need of a stiffer drink. “No.” Fenris drinks, gulping down the sweet drink without giving himself a chance to taste it, only wanting to brutalise enough of his brain cells that the thorny mess of grief and anger and hurt and betrayal in his chest will fade into something he can live through. He tosses the flask to Anders, who stares at it as if it’s a brick from the golden city itself. “Why did you say, before, that he had promised you he would let me go? Why would he promise that to you?”

Instead of looking at Fenris’ face, Anders unscrews the flask and sniffs it suspiciously before drinking, deeply. His entire body is facing away from Garrett Hawke’s corpse, still frozen in the golden light of his paralysis spell. Eventually, Anders stops drinking, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and tossing the flask back to Fenris. Fenris catches it, though the leather slips in the rain, and scowls when he notices that it’s empty. Sighing, he reaches into his pack for a bottle, mentally calculating where he can next resupply. Eventually, Anders speaks, so quietly it’s snatched away on the wind. “It’s not important.”

Fenris pauses in his attempts to pour wine into his flask. The wind is so strong that it keeps snatching it away, and he thinks both of them should probably find shelter, but he also just killed his best friend and right now he doesn’t want to do anything except sit down and get drunk. He gives up on the flask, and presses the bottle to his lips, drinking until his throat hurts. Lightning cracks down the mountain above them so brightly that for a moment Fenris thinks it’s going to split in two. Anders gets to his feet.

“I should go.”

Fenris gets up, and blood rushes to his head in a dizzying flood. He picks himself up, slinging his greatsword over his back, and moves to grab Anders’ arm before the mental image of Garrett manhandling him flashes, unwelcome into his mind. He stops, dropping his hand between them over the sea of rippling grass, glossy with rain. “We should go. You will not get far alone.” Anders scoffs, and Fenris sighs, cutting him off before he can protest. “That is not a criticism. It’s pragmatism.” Then he begins the arduous process of hiking further up the slope.

Anders waits a while, with Garrett’s body. But Fenris doesn’t hear what he says. The wind snatches the words away in the opposite direction. He does look back at a flood of sudden heat, and sees Garrett and the other corpses burning against the storm in a sea of impossible fire.

*

It doesn’t take Fenris too long to find a usable cave, or set up a fire after that, though he refuses the wiggle of fingers in the direction of the firewood that constitutes Anders’ offer of help. Once they’re both drying off, and warmer - though hardly warm, with the wind ripping in against the stone and a gale blowing outside - Fenris asks the question again. “Why would he promise you that he’d let me go?”

Anders stares at the flames, his face haggard and far older, now, with the shadows exaggerating his wrinkles. “Because I asked him to.”

Fenris had eaten a rudimentary meal of jerky and nuts earlier, but Anders had refused anything. The flames dance reflected in his eyes and make him look ethereal. Ghostly. Fenris inclines his head, and bites down on his own frustration. “I gathered that. Why would you ask?”

Anders shrugs, and winces at the way it jostles his injured and now bandaged hand. “He wanted to hand you back to Danarius.” He looks at Fenris with a shadow of old humour when he adds, “Despite what some people might think, I’m against slavery.”

Fenris digests this, watching the flickering shadows dance across the floor like a Rivaini puppet show. Eventually he asks, quietly. “What did he ask in return?”

Anders says nothing, but something in his expression shutters and he moves to lie down, turning so that he’s facing the wall, away from the fire. Away from Fenris. Between them, echoing in the dark, the fire pops and spits. “Good night, Fenris.”

Fenris stares at the mage’s back, listening to his regular, uneven breaths, well aware that he’s awake. He considers prodding him further, answering the curiosity nagging at him like a loose tooth. But outside thunder cracks the sky open, and Anders jumps, and Fenris feels abruptly very old and very tired. So instead he sits back, resting his head against the cave wall, and stretching his legs beside the warmth of the fire. “Good night, Anders.”

[lycanomancy]

Yet again it is time for garlic writing advice, since I've been reading fanfic recently and have some Thoughts

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Do. Not. Fuck. With. Formatting. Don't try to get cute with how your fic is written. I found a fic with like multiple chapters, 60k+ words, 7k+ hits, with 3 comments and 9 kudos. Can you see the issue? The ratio? So I clicked on it to see why it might be so polarizing. And this author wrote it as a FUCKING SCREENPLAY??? Sure, some people enjoy reading that format. But this fic wasn't tagged as "Written in the style of your script from your middle school play of Hamlet". You cannot throw something like that out without giving a warning. 7k+ saw the first paragraph and went "fuck no" because the majority of people don't want to read a screenplay. Again. DO NOT FUCK WITH FORMATTING. That Bethesda tip of Keep It Simple, Stupid is actually good advice when used in the correct context. And this is that context!

Try to keep tags to a minimum. Absolutely tag what is in it, but you don't need "PTSD" and "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder" at the same time. Having minimum/brief tags makes it easier to skim through them and look for any important ones, like trigger tags or kinks. It also helps if they're tagged in order of relevance to each other, but that is only for insane people.

A good rule of thumb: if the summary is only a one or three lines, you need a lot more tags. If the tags are brief, you need more summary. Unless your fic is very short and plotless, you need to provide a good idea of what is in it. If the tags AND summary don't give a clear enough idea as to what the reader will be reading, it turns people off.

I've seen things where it's like

"Dialogue"

Character said.

And this goes back to formatting but I feel like this is such a unique issue because it changes the way the reader actually reads it. There's a pause between the lines. A pause between the dialogue, and the reader knowing who said it and how. This is a useful tool, and can be used for suspense or emphasis or drama. Do not do this for every piece of dialogue. Please.

Be mindful of all-caps. If a character is screaming, all-caps is rarely the first thing you should use to clarify it. But don't shy from all-caps - especially in the character's internal monologs. Some people tend to yell in their heads.