#decided to go through and annotate my copy again

[astrainclinantsednonobligan]

"Sin from my lips? Oh, how you urge me onto another crime...

Give me back my sin" - Romeo (William Shakespeare)

[dissociativewriter]

Unnatural Affinity- Part 1

Isekai!Reader x Love and Deepspace

wc: 2.3k

cw: ANGST, depressed reader, allusions to self harm, reader is not MC, reader has a defined personality, I fear you can tell she's a self-insert, eventual contact with all love interests, no guaranteed happy ending

Synopsis: You hadn't been okay mentally. When going to meet your friend for lunch, you suddenly find yourself plunged into the world of Love and Deepspace as a close friend to the main character. Would you be able to find your place in this world not made for you?

author's note: So this is technically based on @ixloom819 ‘s post on affinity levels with an Isekai!Reader, but I made it very angsty and didn’t actually address the affinity levels in this part (we’ll get to it eventually, I swear. Probably in the next part, actually.) Reader has a lot of oddly specific personality bits here and there that are very much just me so uhhh sorry <3 also the song that is consistently referenced is Vienna by Billy Joel (it’s my favorite <3) Also MC is named Em because I saw another creator call her Em Cee so I decided to use that to instead of searching for a new one to use!

Series Masterlist

You rose with a jolt.

You had plans today.

You rolled over, checking the time.

11:30.

Weren’t you supposed to meet at 12:00?

You jumped out of bed, running straight to the bathroom. You would have to forego much of your “get ready” routine if you wanted to be on time. Quickly brushing your teeth, arranging your hair in a way that didn’t look like you just rolled out of bed, throwing on some jeans and a cute top conveniently sitting at the top of your drawer, and you were pretty much ready to go.

You grabbed your tote bag, tossing in your laptop, a journal, your pencil case, an old, heavily annotated copy of Frankenstein you were currently rereading (and trying to ignore your past, somewhat cringy annotations), and a small bag of snacks.

You checked the time again.

11:48.

Not too shabby.

Although getting ready was an easy, albeit rushed task, getting to the cafe you were meeting at on time was an entirely different and much harder issue. Through some stroke of luck, you’d manage to get to the bus station just in time for it to leave. And you found a seat!

Maybe today was going to be a good day. You were certainly due for one, you thought.

You knew why your friend had asked you to meet up, of course. You put your earbuds in, cueing your favorite song.

Slow down, you crazy child. You’re so ambitious for a juvenile. But then, if you’re so smart, then tell me, why are you still so afraid? You let the music wash over you, the soft piano soothing your nerves as you relaxed your shoulders.

She was worried. You didn’t blame her. You hadn’t exactly been the pinnacle of happiness these past few months. Your recent self-imposed isolation probably hadn’t helped with that.

Your hands, resting on your thighs, flexed restlessly. You could almost feel the outline of every single cut you’d made.

No matter what you’d say, no matter how many I’m fine’s you’d muttered, you knew.

That was not what a healthy person did.

You thought of a journal entry you’d written, what seemed so long ago now.

‘I think it is the true human experience to want more than you have. But I don’t think this emptiness is innate in the human experience. The feeling never leaves me, it’s encapsulating. I feel absolutely nothing so completely. I cannot bring myself to care about my passions, my friends, my self.

I don’t think I can handle anything more than the burden that is my existence. My days are filled with distractions and entertainment, and my night are spent mourning lost time. I desperately want something worthwhile, something meaningful. I desperately want an adventure, with romance and risks. How am I supposed to find that in this world?’

It was an entry you’d thought about a lot. A bit melodramatic, sure. You’d probably been reading Sylvia Plath or something before writing it. But there was still truth to it. You told yourself you’d be fine, you’d get better. And the glimmer of hope at the very end of the entry served as a testament to you that it could get better:

‘But then, I guess those distractions were meaningful if they brought me happiness, however temporary. All emotions are temporary, so this should also be. This feeling will leave. And maybe I can have the adventure I dream of, maybe that is the dream of all creatives. Why else would these feelings and this imagination be given to humanity?’

You still didn’t know where these words had come from. It was a blur of existential crises and anxiety attacks and nights spent sobbing. You could understand the logic behind the words, and they’d helped you before. Briefly. But emotion does not bow to logic, and you soon found yourself drowning again.

Slow down, you’re doing fine. You can’t be everything you want to be before your time.

You really couldn’t blame your friend for worrying, you thought as you stepped off the bus. Even though there were glimmers of hope in your otherwise bleak mindset, you knew you needed help on some level. Maybe she could help, maybe she would realize what you were trying to say as the words died in your throat. Maybe she could recognize the storm brewing inside you.

Maybe, for one time in your life, you could feel truly seen.

Now, for the first time since you received that text inviting you out, you were actually looking forward to seeing your friend. What was once dread for an intervention where you’d be forced to dodge your feelings and hide them so as not to be a burden, became excitement as you realized how dearly you had missed your friend.

Isolation was nice for a time, yes. It allowed you to gather your thoughts. But then the thoughts came too fast and too much. Maybe a break from the overwhelming thinking would be nice. Maybe you’d laugh again.

You peeked through the windows of the cafe, and, not spotting your friend, decided to wait outside under the sign.

You sighed, a bit regretful that it’d taken you this long to feel not completely shattered again. You’d lost a lot of time mourning the future you couldn’t have and the past you couldn’t erase, neglecting the present all the while.

Well, it’s time to live in the present, you thought as you shut your eyes, enjoying the cool breeze on your face. It’s time to recognize the beauty of life for what it is.

Maybe happiness wouldn’t be that hard to achieve.

The breeze grew colder, and you let out an involuntary shudder. It was so warm today, you knew the weather was supposed to stay warm, so why was the temperature suddenly dropping?

Your headphones let out a harsh crackle before the sound fizzled out completely. You could still hear the ghost of the lyrics if you listened hard enough.

You’ve got your passion, you’ve got your pride. But don’t you know that only fools are satisfi—

“There you are!” You cracked an eye open. The voice wasn’t familiar, but not unknown either. The girl in front of you smiled bright. “I thought you’d be late. Again.” There was an obvious teasing each to her voice, as if you knew each other.

You didn’t, right?

You looked around at the street around you, startled to realize that it had completely changed. The bus station was gone, the sushi shop across the street replaced with an arcade. The city you were now in was nice. Sleek. The kind of stuff they show in Sci-Fi movies. Oddly familiar, too. You looked up above you, trying to catch a glimpse of the sign hanging above your head.

Destiny Cafe.

Wait.

Destiny Cafe?

You felt your throat tighten. You looked around, more attentive this time, searching for any sign that you were right and this wasn’t just a coincidence. When you caught sight of an Otto-Bot, you knew.

You were in that game. That stupid game you’d downloaded a few months ago out of curiosity. The game you’d spent too many hours in, finding comfort in the words of men who did not exist.

If you really were in Love and Deepspace, would that make you the main character? That’s usually what happens in those Isekai stories, right? Your thoughts whirled before you were brought back by the expectant stare of the girl in front of you. She doesn’t look like Tara or any of MC’s friends, you thought, so who could she be?

You examined her closely. She was almost like you. As if her appearance were a distant echo of your own. But upon closer inspection, you could see: where your eyes had many flecks of colors, hers had only the one. Where your skin had a blemish here and there, a slight change of hue, hers remained consistent. She was too clean, as if there were no substance at all. And that wasn’t even considering her perfect pale skin, or long, sleek black hair. That was when you realized, and a wave of disappointment flowed through you. This was her.

Everything about her seemed so two-dimensional, a constant reminder that this was not a version of you or even an independent person, but the Main Character of an otome game.

This was the figure in all the promotional art.

This was the main character of Love and Deepspace.

Not you.

Her.

After all, why would it be you, when she was standing right next to you?

“Hello? You’re staring off into space. Are you okay?” She waved her hand in front of your eyes. Your gaze snapped to hers. Though her brows were drawn in concern, you weren’t sure you could name a single emotion behind her eyes. “If you’re not feeling well, we can always go home… We don’t have to go out today if you don’t want to. Don’t feel bad for saying you don’t want to just because it’s my first day back here in a few weeks.”

You looked at her, your confusion only growing. How can you figure out what the hell is going on without seeming absolutely insane? “…Sorry, I hit my head really bad earlier this morning, and I’m having trouble remembering things. Could you just give me a quick sum-up of what’s been happening?” It wasn’t perfect, but maybe you could get some answers.

The furrow in her brow deepened. “You… don’t remember?” She suddenly grabbed your arm. “Do you remember my name is Em?!”

So that was her name. “Of course I do!” you chuckled. “Just give me a run-down of the past few months, maybe it will jog my memory.” You smiled, hopefully convincingly.

It seemed to do the trick, because she smiled back before diving into what seemed to be her life story with great enthusiasm. “Well a few months ago, I went to the N109 Zone for that one secret mission, do you remember that? Well anyway I was gone for a few weeks, I spent a lot of time with my friend Skye. I’m pretty sure you meant him, we saw him at that work karaoke party?”

Skye in the N109 Zone. You realized with a start: I’ve met Sylus! At a work party? Surely you’re not a hunter. You realized Em was waiting for your yes or no before continuing, so you gave her a slight nod to go on.

“Right, so, after that I took a few missions with Xavier, helped out Rafayel with bodyguard duties or whatever, and had to go see Zayne for a ton of things because apparently my heart was beating arrhythmically. Turns out I’m fine, just a lot of excitement happened, you know? Anyways, after that I took leave for a few weeks to go to Skyhaven. You remember that, right? I remember I told you a lot cause you were using your access for research to help me out.”

Access for research? What kind of purpose did you serve in this plot line?

“I got in a bit of trouble with the Farspace Fleet, but everything’s fine so don’t worry! And now I’m here to meet up with you ‘cause I missed my roomie!” She gave you a tight hug.

She certainly had a lot of energy, you noted.

So from what you gathered: You were roommates with Em and you both worked at the Hunter’s Association. It seems she’s pretty up-to-date as far as the main plot line goes. That, unfortunately, means you’ll be left in the dark for a lot of future events. You’ll have to go off of only the secrets you know from the game.

You mentally thanked yourself for not neglecting any of the Love Interests. You knew they were all extremely important in the world, and, despite having a favorite, you participated in events and games with all of them. All of their affinities were relatively high, meaning you knew a lot of lore.

That could come in handy.

You were still struggling to realize your importance in this world, though. Surely, if you were this close to the Main Character, you contributed something, right?

Would you be able to find a happy ending in this game?

Em continued jabbering on, mentioning little memories and conversations you two had shared.

You stared at her blankly, unsure of what she was talking about. It certainly sounded like something you would say, or something you would do, but you had no recollection of any of it.

Then, it came to you.

Fragments, at first. Memories of a life that wasn’t quite yours. One somewhat empty. One that seemed hastily added in at the last second. One that didn’t hold importance in a world as vast as this.

An afterthought.

You decided to eat lunch with Em. ‘You’ had apparently promised her a lunch date, after all. You didn’t go into Destiny Cafe, and you weren’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. It almost felt like breaking the fourth wall to go inside, and you were afraid of what you would find when you entered.

Would it feel as empty as Em’s eyes?

You ended up finding a quiet sandwich shop. It was cute, homey, and you could feel yourself settling into a rhythm with Em. While you ate and chatted, attempting to seem casual and familiar in this setting, you watched her closely.

She was almost like an extension of yourself. You could see your own influence, seeping in from your various choices in the game, no matter how small. But she was still her own person.

You would never be her, you realized with a pang in your chest.

Never carry that importance.

So what was left for you?

A secondary character meant to fade into the background.

What fate awaited you?

Had anyone even bothered to weave the strings in the fabric that is your destiny?

comments and reblogs appreciated! <3

masterlist

[babyonboard]

in sickness & in health | Don Hume x f!reader

Summary- nursing Don back to health. Part 1?

Warnings- fluff, talk of being sick (fever, nausea, etc.)

Word count- 2.2k

Fiddling with the thermostat, silently begging it to go lower, you glanced over your shoulder. Don was laying in bed, his eyes closed and his breathing slow. The sweat on his forehead was visible, and you could see that his eyebrows were slightly furrowed in discomfort. Giving up on the temperature, you decided on another course of action. 

This was not a part of your plan for your trip to Germany. You had been ecstatic to receive an invite, of course you would be there as a nurse, but you didn’t think they would actually need you. Yet, here you are, desperately nursing the stroke of the team to health. Now, it felt like it would be your fault if he didn’t get better, it would be your fault if they lost. You were beginning to wish you never accepted this position. 

You should be in the audience of the olympic opening ceremony right now, where you had originally intended to be. Yet, here you were, digging through the bathroom to find a washcloth. 

“Here we go.” You spoke under your breath, pulling a washcloth out of a drawer. You wet it with cold water, praying that this method would lower his fever. 

Don stirred when you sat on the side of the bed. “Hey.” You whispered. He mumbled a response that you couldn’t make out. 

You set the wash cloth on his forehead, his eyes cracked open. “How are you feeling?” You asked softly, brushing his hair away from his forehead. 

“Mmm.” He hummed. “Not that good.” 

You nodded and subconsciously continued to stroke his hair. “You think the medicine from earlier helped at all?”

He shrugged lightly. “A little.” His voice was low and husky, his eyes half lidded.

“What else can I get you?” You noticed how warm his head was, wondering if his fever had gone down at all.

“Nothing.” He said, closing his eyes again. “I’m okay for now.”

“Nothing at all?” You asked. “I could get you something to eat. Anything in the world.”

He stirred. “I don’t think I can eat right now. But thank you.”

“Okay.” You agreed. “Let me know if you change your mind.” He nodded softly and even though the conversation was over, you stayed for a moment. Observing his face, he truly did not look good. Your heart sunk a little, you only have a day and a half to get him feeling better before the race.

Despite his protest, you still went and got him food, he hasn’t eaten all day. Some crackers and a little bit of juice won’t hurt him. He was awake when you got back, sitting up in bed, reading a book. “Hi.” You smiled.

He gave you a classic Don nod. No words, no smile, but you knew he was hard to crack. You didn’t know Don personally before all of this, but you’ve seen him around before. He’s shy, always trying to fade into the background, but that’s never how you saw him. He always stood out to you, his sweetness, his quiet charm, that was the Don you knew. So you didn’t take his quietness personally. 

“What are you reading?” You asked absentmindedly. 

“Oh… um…” He stuttered. The embarrassment drained whatever color the sickness had left his face. 

You looked at the book, and realized it was yours. “Oh, I don’t care.” You waved your hand. Although it is your copy of The Great Gatsby, annotated and all, he could read it. The sweet, lanky boy in the bed could have ripped it up and burned it and you would still tell him you didn’t care. 

“Sorry.” He closed the book and set it on the nightstand. “Just bored.” He croaked, scrambling for an excuse. 

“Don, you can read my book. It’s okay.” You smiled. He folded his hands and looked down at the bed. You had no idea why he was so flustered, but that wasn’t your main concern right now. “I brought you something to eat.” You extended the small plate of crackers to him. He stared at it, then at you. “Don, you need to eat.”

He took a breath in, then silently grabbed the plate. “Thanks.” He spoke quietly. 

You nodded, then sat on the end of the bed. Much to your delight, he slowly began to eat the crackers. It was silent while he did so, and it never crossed your mind that it might be weird to sit there and watch him eat, but you couldn’t help it. 

“I saw the boys in the lobby. Opening ceremony went well.” You spoke into the quiet room. 

He nodded. Once again, no words. 

“They were all asking about you. Wondering how you’re doing.” You smoothed out the quilt, accidentally running your hand over his leg as you did so.

“What’d you tell them?” He asked, seeming concerned. 

“I told them you’ll be okay.” You looked at your lap. That could most definitely be a lie. If he kept at the pace he was going now, there is no way he would feel better by the race.

“I will be.” He reassured you, almost sensing your hesitance. You nodded in response, and it was quiet again. “Thanks for helping me, by the way. Probably would’ve died by now without you.” He cracked a small smile.

That was the first time you had heard Don make a joke, let alone smile. “Of course, Don. That’s my job.” You smile at him, his deep brown eyes holding you in a trance. “I’m… more than happy to do it.”

“Happy?” He blinked. “I’m sure you don’t like doing this.”

“Do you know how many girls would kill to be in my position? Taking care of the stroke of the olympic team?” You giggled.

His brain scrambled for a response. “I… that’s just not true.” He shook his head out of insecurity. 

“No, Don, it is.” you spoke assertively. You weren’t lying. Don was a hot topic of conversation, right behind George Hunt, of course. “Girls love you.”

He couldn’t tell if he was lightheaded from his fever or the thought of you talking about him with your friends. “W-what?” He stuttered out.

“Yeah.” You confirmed. “You’re the sweetest guy on the team, everyone knows that. You should’ve heard everyone after you played the piano at the victory party. They love you, truly.”

He blinked a few times in disbelief. He must be having a fever dream. The doll who sat exactly 6 rows behind him in his biology lecture was sitting on his bed, her hand on his leg as she told him how many girls love him. He could hardly form words.

It made you giggle, his shyness. You could see the blush in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “All I’m saying is, I think I’m a pretty lucky girl.”

Words failed him, his brain failed him, all he could focus on was the way you squeezed his leg over the blanket as you talked. He hardly even heard you ask if he was finished eating. You took the plate from him and set it on the nightstand, exchanging it for your copy of The Great Gatsby. You held it out to him, his eyes meeting yours, hoping you didn’t see the slight shake of his hand as he grabbed it from you. 

“I’m gonna go shower, but I’ll be back. Do you need anything before I go?” You asked. 

He shook his head and looked down at the book in his lap. While you were gone, he was able to read a few chapters, but he found himself paying more attention to your annotations than he did the words of the actual book. He particularly liked the smiley faces you wrote next to the scenes you liked. He found himself rereading Gatsby and Daisy’s kiss scene that you had underlined in purple ink. It made him blush, thinking about you reading this part. He ran his fingers over the purple ink over and over again, thinking about your hands delicately underlining it. 

His eyes grew heavy as he read, and he eventually thought it would be a good idea to get some rest. He fell asleep thinking about the kiss scene, switching out the characters with himself and a certain nurse who happened to be taking care of him.

The lights were off when you returned, and you could hear his heavy breathing, indicating that he was asleep. Of course, you wanted to let him get his rest, but you needed to take his temperature one last time before you went to sleep. Trying to wake him up as gently as you could, you rubbed his back softly. That didn’t work, so you moved your hand up to run through his hair. His eyes cracked open at the feeling of your fingers twisting in his hair. 

“Hi.” You whispered, scratching his head lightly. “Can I take your temperature?”

He nodded and hummed a yes, and you brought the thermometer to his lips. You tisked your tongue when you saw that it read 101, it had only gone down one degree since this morning. “It’s still pretty high.” You whispered, not surprised by the lack of response from him. “I’m gonna stay here for a little longer, make sure you're okay.”

He sleepily nodded and closed his eyes again. You ran your fingernails softly up and down his back. The room was quiet, but you could hear some light chatter and music coming through the open window. By the way he was breathing, you could tell he was no longer sleeping, but you continued scratching up and down his bare back, hoping to bring him a little bit of comfort in his sick state.

There was no way Don could fall asleep, not with the weight of you sitting next to him, especially not with the feeling of your fingers on his back. Despite his fever, he swore he had goosebumps from the feeling. He would get this sick every day for the rest of his life if it meant he got to keep receiving this treatment from you. 

You have no idea how long you sat there scratching his back, occasionally making your way up to his hair to scratch his head. It went on for a while before Don spoke up begrudgingly, saying “You should get some sleep.”

A deep sigh left your mouth. Yes, you should sleep, but you felt a duty to watch over him. “I need to stay with you for a little longer.” You reassured in a whisper.

Maybe it was his fever messing with his head, maybe it was because he felt so bad that you had to stay up with him, but Don did something out of pure instinct, knowing that you needed to sleep. He lifted the blanket that was covering him and scooched over in the small bed, making room for you. He nodded as a gesture for you to lay down. “You should sleep.” He said softly.

Your heart swelled at the sight. With no protest, you slid right next to him under the covers. Don could hardly believe what he just did, but he couldn’t be happier that he did it. Neither of you were sure what to do, of course both of you wanted to wrap the other up in your arms, but neither of you did. Just laying there, next to each other, hearing the other breathing and feeling the heat radiating from the other's body was enough.

On something of a confidence streak, Don noted the absence of your hand on his back. “Can you keep scratching my back?” He said softly. 

Saying nothing, you smiled and ran your hand up his back. His reaction was noticeable, his whole body relaxed and his eyes fell shut. He unintentionally fell asleep almost immediately. The exhilaration of laying in the same bed as Don kept you awake, but you were more than happy to lay there rubbing his back until you fell asleep in the hazy hours of the early morning.

[ferigrievous]

kiss me (until my lips fall off).

⊹ ࣪ ˖ kiss me until my lips fall off / kiss me until i start to rot

⤷ masterlist ; requests open

your copy of dracula was well worn. its cover had irreparable water damage, peeling in the corners, and a concerning amount of tabs sticking out of its side. it was well worn, post-it notes on every other page, and indecipherable annotations crammed in every open space. 

tokoyami had looked at you like you were holding a bomb when you had handed him the book, convinced that the manuscript for the original was in your hands with the state it was in.

now he found himself at his desk, pouring over the book, while you lounged on his bed, idly flipping through a FRUiTS magazine.

“have you seen my quill, love?” the boy across from you inquired, rummaging through his drawers to no avail. 

“mm. i ate it, sorry.” you giggled, rolling over and placing the magazine back where it belongs.

he raised a brow at you. “haha. real funny.” he huffed, continuing looking through his drawers, mumbling something about always replacing things. 

rolling your eyes, you reached under the bed and rummaged around, pulling out one of the many things you had hidden a multitude of his things. with the tip of your wing, you dropped it in front of him, not without a light shove to the shoulder.

with a click of his beak, he thanked you, turning and dipping it into his near-empty inkwell. you made a mental note to buy a new one when you went out.

you watched tokoyami with amusement as he meticulously flipped through the pages of your battered book, careful not to rip or tear anything, as if that would make any difference. his furrowed brow and intense focus were a stark contrast to how you laid on his bed, borderline falling asleep. 

you had read thru this issue more times than you could count, and you decided watching him struggle with the book was more than enough to keep you entertained.

as fought to decipher what exactly was going on in your annotations, you couldn't help but admire the way his silhouette was illuminated by the soft glow of his many candles. 

the room felt cosy, and you figured it would only seem that way to the two of you, and maybe that one bird pro-hero you had forgotten the name of. his bed resembled that exactly of a bird’s nest, except it was made with pillows, stolen stuffed animals, and layers and layers of comforters.

feathers were jammed between each and every pillow, ranging in size and colour, but most were that of either his, or yours, a result of being too lazy to clean them up after moulting. in the corners of the bed, stuffed animals of various shapes and sizes were nestled, the only pop of colour in the entire room. among them were different birds of prey, but a majority were either ravens, or crows, meticulously arranged as if they were guarding the two of you as you slept.

“hey,” he started. “have you read wuthering heights?”

tokoyami knew the answer. of course he did. he had watched you attempt to read it during lunch, and put it down after ten pages. you had told him that you didnt have the brain capacity right for it at the moment. he never saw you pick it up again.

“...yeah.”

“you have not. otherwise you would have rambled about it in excruciating detail by now.” he tapped his quill against the table, huffing. “i was thinking we could go to the library to check another book like it. one that takes less brain power, of course.”

“on a date? how sweet.” you grinned, sitting up and tucking your knees to your chest.

“i suppose it is.” he quipped, standing up and making his way over to you. “you’ve been laying in bed all day, love. my legs are going numb.”

he tucked into bed beside you, laying his head on your lap and playing with the tips of your feathers. “do i now?” you wrap your wings around his body in some sort of makeshift cocoon, making up for the blanket you were hogging.

you loved these moments of affection between you two. you pressed a kiss on his forehead, and he responded with a grumble, pressing his face into your stomach. tokoyami lay there with you for a solid ten minutes before glancing at the clock.

“love,” he sighed.” “we should probably get dressed, lest we wish to not make it to the library before it closes.”

“that means i’d have to get up!” 

“a horrific possibility.” he hummed.” “we could always go tomorrow, if you are feeling lazy.” he stood up, stretching and ruffling his feathers. “however, we both know that neither of us will be awake before noon tomorrow, so lets just go now, okay?”

you pout, removing your wings as some sort of punishment as you turn away from him.

he raised a brow. “what an injustice. i offer to go on a date with you, and you refuse to get out of bed. im going to have to resort to violence it seems.

in one swift move, he pinned you down on his bed, an indistinguishable smile on his face. “i suppose ill have to drag you to the library.”

“nooo…!” you whined, thrashing playfully.

he giggled, kissing the side of your jaw. “oh, dont be so overdramatic, dear. its just a couple of books, and perhaps some food afterwards. is that so bad?” he gave you another kiss, and another, and another, until your whole face was tingly from the feeling of his beak against your skin.

“are ya’ gonna treat me to dinner, fumi’?”

“thats not even a question, of course i will, my love. now come on, we have a library to go to.” he hummed, pulling you up along side him. “lets get dressed, then we can go on our date.” hopping to his feet, he opened his closet, sorting through until he found something suitable.

“love, where is my vest?”

you looked away from him, buttoning up your dress shirt as you pointedly ignore the vest wrapped around your body.

he smiled, chuckling as he nudged you in the stomach. “where did you even find that?” without waiting for a response, he grabbed one of your vests that you had left in his room the day prior and pulled it on over his band tee.

you’re wearing borderline the exact same outfit, as always. “so, are you ready?”

he grabbed his keys off his desk, and shoved them in his pocket. without saying another word, he pulled you out of bed once more, and began to tug you out the door. “lets go, my darling.”

tokoyami, pulling you down the street, thumb rubbing over the back of your palm. “do you wanna fly, my love?” you grinned.

with one large flap of your wings  you propelled yourself up into the air with tokoyami in your grasp. he could fly too, and you often launched him into the air after you like some sort of rocket launcher. the sight of the city below you two was always breathtaking. you could never get tired from seeing the world so high up.

tokoyami, of course, was holding onto you for dear life. flying was all fun and games right up until the moment when it wasnt.

this time, he held on tight, the wind whipping through his feather, his face buried in your neck. all he could smell was the strawberry of your perfume. he was content like this, holding onto you for his life, as the two of you approached the library.

as you landed, pulling him onto the ground with you, tokoyami’s knees wobbled. he clutched your shoulder for dear life, not trusting in his body to stay upright and not embarrass him.

“you’re  a nightmare, love. i swear, one of these days–” he started, walking through the library entrance after you. “one of these days, what? “

he glanced away, muttering something about ‘one of these days im going to have a stroke.” 

he let go of your hand for the first time since leaving, and led you through the shelved. he paused occasionally, skimming his fingers over the dust jackets. “you never did tell me what you were looking for.” he commented idly.

“anything but wuthering heights, maybe a little life. i heard shoji talk about it over lunch.”

he chuckled, running his fingers over a shelf dedicated to fantasy. “of course you’d pick one of the most depressing books to read over spring break. you’re such a romantic.”

“love you too, fumi’.”

he shook his head, a small smile on his face. “i love you too, dearest.”

he finally stopped at the gothic lit section, and you watched his eyes light up. tokoyami walked  along the section, examining each book. he pulled a few books from the shelf, and began flipping through one. “the picture of dorian grey. i’ve been meaning to pick this up.

he flipped through a few more, and added another few books to the ever growing stack he and dark shadow held. the bird was not pleased about it, and cawed something about ‘children’s books’.

you rolled your eyes, and took some of the books from the bird, placing them gently in the basket you held. tokoyami had something of a frown on his face, trying to take the books back from you. “i can carry them just fine myself, love.”

“yeah, but then you wont be able to get more, dumbass.”

he stared at you in shock, placing his hand over his chest in mock hurt. “how rude. is this how you show your love for me? calling me names?”

“blah blah blah, i dont wanna fuckin’ here it, fumi’!” you grin, taking a seat at one of the many tables littered around the library. tokoyami set his books down at the table, and crossed his arms. he stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around you and placing a kiss on your neck. his head rested on your shoulder. tokoyami seemed unwilling to let you go, and you weren’t inclined to fight him.

“i love you, evem if you dont listen to me. and take my books. and call me names.”

“i love you too, bird brain. now, lets go check out, yeah?”

tokoyami grumbled something unintelligible underneath his breath, but nodded anyways. he released his hands from your waist slowly, and grabbed the cart of books. 

“did you forget your card again..?”

he scoffed as you led him towards the front desk, placing the books down at the counter. “me? never.” tokoyami reached into his pocket, averting his gaze when he realised he had in fact, forgotten his card.

“i swear you do this deliberately.” you commented from beside him, already pulling out your card.”

“i dont, i promise!” he defended himself, feathers bristling at the accusation.

“yeah, yeah. whatever man.” you roll your eyes and scan all the books, handing it back to your boyfriend to place in his tote bag.

he grumbled, mock offended. “i know, im horrible. im the worst.” tokoyami waited impatiently as you sorted through the books. he was beginning to become restless, rocking back and forth on his heels, dark shadow whining and tugging on your wings.

“mhm, sure. is there anythin’ else you wanna do while we’re out, fumi’?” you hummed, holding the door open for him as he left. the sun had set, casting the buildings across from you in bright hues of orange. “anything but fly home.” tokoyami huffed, purposefully stepping on your toes. 

“can’t make any promises, love.”

“ah, you’re a horrible person.”

“love you too.”

keeping your silent promise, you walked through the streets of musutafu, one hand on your tote bag, and the other intertwined with your boyfriend’s. he had awfully cold hands for a warm blooded animal. you were planning on beelining straight to the dorms and curling up in tokoyami’s room to read, but god forbid you dont get a sweet treat when you can.

you found yourself in front of an array of pastries, all catching your eye in their own unique way. you werent particularly picky when it game to baked goods, as long as it was good. asking your boyfriend was no help either, he was like an eightball with only two answers. “i have no idea,” and “whatever looks good to you, my love.”

“just a dozen brownies, please, ma’am?” you smiled, placing the yen on the tray and taking the box gently. you watched tokoyami reach into his pocket to presumably pay, but it was clear that he not only had forgotten his library card, but his whole wallet.

he took your hand once more outside of the local cafe you had just visited, dark shadow opening the box of brownies and shoving them in his beak. “so good,” he mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate.”

“stop talking when you have food in your mouth, weirdo!” you smacked him with your wings playfully, sticking your tongue out at him in fake disgust.

he rolled his eyes, waving a brownie in your face. “you want one, darling?”

“well, i was saving those for when we got back home, but someone decided to get a head start. not gonna name names though.”

“stop complaining ! i know for a fact you want one.”

“i do! but if– if i eat them now, i wont have any later..” you pouted, taking the brownie and placing it back in the box neatly.

“seriously, love. i cant believe youre passing up an opportunity to eat something sweet.” he tutted, taking the brownie he had offered to you and swallowing it whole. “what kind of monster are you?”

“a terrible, terrible, one, that only an aspiring pro-hero can tame…”

he stood up on his tip-toes, bumping his beak against your cheek in a ‘kiss’. “unfortunately, i have come to love this dreaded monster.”

you find yourself close to the dorms, and without warning, you pick tokoyami up like a sack of potatoes and launch yourself up into the air, giggling as you shot through his window and landed in a heap on his bedroom floor.

as always, tokoyami was not particularly fond of your behaviour. he was muttering something along the lines of ‘god, kill me now.’ and ‘why did i even agree to this relationship.’ 

after a few minutes, he sat up, and gave his best attempt at a scowl as you could get with a face like his. “do you derive some form of sick, twisted delight by doing that?”

“...a little.”

he sighed and shook his head. he knew better to argue by now. all that mattered were that the brownies were in one piece. he got to his feet, dusting himself off before offering a hand to help you up. “the things i do for love.”

“aww, you love me? how sweet.” you crooned, placing your hands together and twirling him around.

“of course i love you, dear.” he said, taking your hand and lifting up to his beak, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.. “its horrible.”

tokoyami tugs you closer, slinging his arms around your waist and pulling you down onto the rug. he placed another kiss on your forehead, “absolutely horrible.”

he sighed, burying his head in the crook of your neck. “why did i ever agree to date you? i was so normal before you, y’know.”

“youre literally like the least normal person i know, fumikage.”

he gave you a pointed look, “and you think youre normal, dear? youre anything but normal. youre… insane.”

“hey. i never said anythin’ about myself now.” you hummed, feeling yourself become drowsy from how comfortable it was laying in each others arms. it was oddly comfortable on your boyfriend’s floor. “i think… ill just fall asleep here. forget the books.” you felt yourself get lifted up by the waist, getting hauled over to tokoyami’s bed and flopping you down like a ragdoll. “we can start the book later, my love.” he shifted around a little, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close.

it was quiet, for a moment, a comfortable silence you’d grown to love. 

“dear?”

“yes, love?”

“...stay here?” tokoyami inquired, voice barely above a whisper. you mumbled an ‘mhm.’ against his neck, he was so warm.

you were fighting a battle against sleep and loosing. “read to me, fumi’.” you murmured.

you felt him nod, moving your wings out of the way to reach over to his desk and grab your copy of dracula. he flipped through the pages once more, searching for the handmade bookmark you had given to him on valentine’s day. his voice was soft, the monotonous hum lulling you into a deeper sleep.

not even five minutes had past before he felt your wings go limp, and when he looked up from his book, he found you passed out on his lap, a bit of drool seeping our your mouth. gross.

he gently closed the book and put it back where it belonged, and rolled over, wrapping his arms around you once more. 

in nothing but the soft glow of the moonlight, tokoyami watched as you drifted off into a peaceful sleep, breathing steady and serene. with a smile, he leaned down to brush a stray locke of hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear gently. 

carefully, he adjusted his position, making sure not to ruffle your feathers as he held you close. your warmth was intoxicating. he felt like he couldnt get enough of you.

with a contented sigh, he closed his eyes, allowing himself tosuccumb to the soothing rhythm of your breathing, knowing as long as you were by his side, he was exactly where he belonged.

[waywardducks]

I just can't stop thinking about the idea of y/n and Jason having a meet-cute in a bookstore! It's so cozy and sweet. I’ve had this idea in my head for days now.

CW: Fluff, a bit OOC, mentions of fighting and of Jason’s death, Gn reader

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

Jason was fighting with Bruce, which meant Jason would not be going to the manor for the next few weeks. At least not until one of the men decided to give in and apologize. Which would be a while this time. Usually, when it is Jason’s fault his brothers will talk him into apologizing and help him recognize where he was wrong. But this time Bruce is wrong. Meaning no one, not even Alfred will be able to get this man to pull his head out of his ass. Maybe they could if Jason fought hard enough, and threw enough hard-hitting insults to breach the stony exterior that is Batman. But Jason doesn’t feel like breaking his own heart right now, so he’s opting for the long run, waiting (im)patiently as far from Batman as possible. Bruce will come back and apologize eventually when the silence and lack of his second son start feeling too close to when Jason was dead. When memories start to surface grief begins to overwhelm the man.

For now, though, Jason is content to sit in his apartment and read. The only real downside is that the book he had been reading was currently still in the manor’s library. Technically Jason could just ask one of his siblings to retrieve it for him, but he’s still hurt from his fight with his father and doesn’t feel like doing something vulnerable, like asking for help.

So he heads to the bookstore. He’s been to this particular bookstore a million times. It’s cozy, nestled on the edge of Blüdhaven, close to the border. Sometimes Jason would head to Dick’s apartment afterwards, since he was in his brother’s neighborhood. The shop has a little cafe area, indoor and outdoor seating, a covered patio with a couch that Jason enjoyed sitting on when it was raining.

A bell chimes his arrival as he entered the small shop.

“Welcome in!” An older woman greets from behind the counter.

Jason gives the woman a smile before making his way to the Shakespeare section. He began browsing the titles, trying to find the exact one he was looking for.

The bell chimes and again, but Jason paid it no real mind, only acknowledging that a third person was now in the store.

“Oh! Y/n. How lovely to see you again.” The woman at the front exclaims.

“Hey Mrs Goodmen! How’ve you been?” The newcomer asked.

“Just perfect, thank you for asking dear. What brings you in today?”

“I need a new copy of a book I love. I let my friend borrow it a year ago and I don't think I'm getting it back.”

“Well, you go find it, let me know if you need any help, okay?”

“Of course, thank you!”

There was silence again as the person began browsing aisles. Jason smiled as he found the book he was looking for. He pulled it off the shelf and began flipping through the pages.

“Oh, how funny.” A voice startles Jason out of his skimming and he looks up. It was the person that had been talking the lady.

“What's funny?” Jason asked, closing his book.

“That's the book I was looking for.” They say, pointing at paperback in Jason’s hands.

Jason smiles. “Oh, that is funny.”

“Great minds think alike.” The person jokes. “I'm Y/n, by the way.”

“Jason. Nice to meet you.”

“You too!”

Jason watches as Y/n grabs a copy of the same book off the shelf.

“I've read this like 8 times now. I'm planning on actually annotating it this time. It's just so good. Oh! I should check to see if they have that new book I wanted to read.” Y/n mumbles.

Jason thinks it's cute how distracted they got all of a sudden. They themselves were cute. The oversized sweater they’re wearing, the concentrated look on their face as they search for the book they need, even the way their hair looks like they just rolled out of bed.

Jason pulls a small notebook out of his pocket and writes his name and number on it quickly. He doesn’t normally do this sort of thing, maybe it was because this person had similar taste in reading. Jason isn't sure, but he did know that this person is cute and he wants to get to know them.

“Are you a Shakespeare fan?” Y/n asks all of a sudden.

Jason chuckles. “I suppose you can say that. Though I suppose I'm more of a classical literature fan.”

Y/n smiles a bit wider at that. “Me too! I especially love Greek mythology and Gothic romance. Oh! They do have it! Perfect, I've been so excited for this one!” Y/n plucks a book off the shelf and does a triumphant little twirl.

Jason takes note of the book in her hand. “Biography of Mary Casset?”

Y/n shows Jason the books. “Yep! She was an impressionist painter whose main focus was on the relationships between mother and child. She also used traditional Chinese printing methods. She was a hardcore feminist and never stopped even after facing backlash for being a female artist in a male-dominated industry. I adore her.”

Jason can't help but stare at Y/n as they gushed over the artist. The way they ramble and are so passionate about it has his heart beating a lot faster all of a sudden.

“She sounds pretty fucking cool. I might need to grab me a copy of that as well.” He says. “Oh yeah, said you wanted to annotate this book,” he lifts the book that brought them both here in the first place. “We should get together sometime, compare notes maybe?”

Y/n blushes. “Yeah. That sounds like a lot of fun.” They smile brightly.

“Awesome! Here, take this.” Jason hands them the paper with his number on it. “Text me, we’ll make it a date?”

Y/n’s blush darkens. “Of course! I, uh, maybe a cafe or something? I’ll, umm, I'll have to check and see when I'm free.” They stammer as they carefully place the paper in their bag.

“Perfect. I'll be waiting to hear from you then.” Jason winks before turning and walking to the counter. He checks out and makes his way back to his apartment.

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

What do y'all think? I tried to keep the book nondescript but then went I ranted too hard about Mary Casset. My bad. I hope that my little explanation at the end there makes up for how ooc Jay is. Let me know if you want more! Feel free go request and give a prompt as well! I love writing and I want to do more of it!

Also, I apologize for any mistakes. I have major Dyslexia and Grammarly doesn't always fix everything. I hope you Enjoyed! 🌼🐛

[areusick]

[adding on to my introduction post]

reading is a big part of my life. i am very picky about books, writing style, and material/content of what i read. 

pictured are the 5 books that have had a profound impact on my life.

(in no particular order):

1. nausea by jean-paul sartre

2. the catcher in the rye by jd. salinger

3. when nietzsche wept by irvin d. yalom

4. letters to a young poet by rainer maria rilke

5. a little life by hanya yanagihara 

i want to expand on the significance of the book nausea for me. 

i was 15. post an assault that left me spiraling and spiraling down further and further. i came across a few quotes from this book that spoke to me on a deep level and decided to go straight to the bookstore to purchase it. i don’t think many 15-year-olds read this book, much less relate to it on the level that i did. this book brought me immense comfort. i had never encountered anyone who had such similar thoughts that i had and that i was experiencing at the time—again, dark ones. this book is essentially a series of journal entries by a man who is nauseated by life. i wanted to die so goddamn bad at 15. this book put into words experiences that i could not find words for myself. it’s a hard-to-digest read, yet the comfort it brought me at the time was something i will forever be grateful for. 

i am so thankful i still have the original copy that i first ever read back in 2011. it’s all taped together; almost every page is annotated, very well-loved, as you can see. i read this book probably 5 or 6 times over the course of 2 years (perhaps the autism in me lmao). this book—the exact copy pictured—came with me through many, many psychiatric hospital admissions (as did the catcher in the rye).

the last page of the book—as you can see my deeply hopeless note—the part that is annotated, i remember vividly reading it in group at the hospital. it’s pretty much the only uplifting part of the book, but i clung to that so dearly for years. and still do. 

i’m so grateful for this book. and even more grateful to still have the first copy i ever read, 14 years later. 

and just to make this book even more special, ethel cain’s new album hayden put out was in part inspired by this novel. everything makes sense now. nausea makes me feel safe and ethel makes me feel safe. how full circle is that? crying over here.

(i just feel the need to add this if anyone decides to pick up a little life—massive trigger warning for everything … under the sun. like very graphic and also, the most beautifully heartbreaking novel that i have ever read. i am still not ok 7 years later. but again - huge massive trigger warning).

[delusionalnerdt]

Hey! I'm about to start my medical college journey & am a little confused about the books to read in the first year. Could you please help me? I looked thru your blog & it seems like at your uni they follow a pattern and timeline similar to the Indian medical system, so I thought I'd pop by & ask you for some advice :)

PS: Love your blog, really inspirational!! 🩵 I'm a ex-French learner myself & your posts really inspire me to restart.

Hey, first of all, congratulations and welcome to the Fraternity!

As for the books:

Anatomy

General anatomy : get the bdc or vishram singh general anatomy pdf or get the book from library once you are in college and give a read to important topics and go through the terminologies. You can read general anatomy now, before you go to college or during your foundation course classes

Gross anatomy : The preferred book by students is BDC but i read vishram singh. It has very easy to remember diagrams and things are given in points, i suppose you will feel easier to understand and remember. May be, you can go to a store and see both books and decide (goes for all the books, I'll write here about my personal experience only)

Embryology : Get a langman from senior or if it is okay, buy it too. It's an international book but quite good. You don't have to go through everything but the important topics. Vishram singh embryology is also nice. I got to know about it just few days before exam but it was nice. And please don't neglect embryology. Your friends and seniors will say that it doesn't matter, it does. I suppose i could have got distinction in anatomy if only i had read embryo properly since in paper 1, i couldn't write one answer at all. (Like distinction is not everything, it's just kind of an achievement that can boost you?)

Histology : we read IB singh and mostly, our class notes.

Osteology : Again, class notes. But i guess, poddar is being followed here. I had the pdf. So, see if your college has good teacher who teaches you well, take notes of the bones and revise them. Well, vishram singh gross books also have bone sections and its quite nice.

Physiology

Guyton is the best book. If it is possible for you, get that book either from a senior or from a store. Seniors will tell you otherwise most of the time unless you are in AIIMS or the top colleges. Don't listen to them. I regret not studying standard books, they are gem. But you have to start from initial days and again, make notes of important topics. For exam purpose, you can read your notes and Sembulingam. Thats a nice book. You can keep a pdf. We used AK jain too. But in case you are reading Guyton, making notes and using Sembu, you don't need it. And get the AK jain practical book.

Biochemistry

The standard books are Lippincott and Harper. They are review books. Other than that we followed Satyanarayan or Vasudevan. Satyanarayan is better for exams i feel. Since its like a note. You can keep one of them as physical book and other as pdf. Keep whatever pdf you get actually. And as you proceed, you will get to know about more study materials like Jambulkar. That's nice note but use that as a revision tool.

In our college, for practical in biochemistry, we real our practical copies only. So, i have no idea what other colleges follow for practical

Do join telegram channels, you will get whatever pdf you need and important topics. I will suggest you to read every topic but make notes or proper annotation of important topics and of course, revision of them.

That's all i can remember now. Its not like you need to buy all the books right now itself. See those books in library or get the pdfs and go through random topics and whatever you feel nice, you can buy it. And as i said, keep all pdfs. Mbbs is not like preparing for neet. There will be topics easier to understand or easier to present in exam in different book than yours. But you cannot buy all books so pdf works. And do feel free to ask whatever doubt you have!

PS : This means a lot, thank you! And you can definitely restart your language lessons too.

[moccabunie]

things I've learned after a year writing fanfiction

This is a post from a non-writer who, apparently, now writes (❓) And this is a little crazy to me, considering that a year ago writing less than 1k decent words took a lot of effort. But this year I have completed a +100k project. (It's still difficult, though.)

I found out that the more I wrote, the easier it was to get into the story. So I think that being captivated by my own story has made a lot. I am an eager fanfiction reader, but I had yet to really try to write something on my own.

That was until I got hyper-fixated on three characters and wrote a small story about them sharing a room, and it was one of the funniest and most rewarding things I've done. So I was like "oh, maybe I can try to imagine stories I would like to read?"

(1) story one - a bird told me to wait

The first thing I considered was to make it completely self-indulging. The second was to make it as evocative as possible, not only telling what was happening. I like sensations and emotions, so I really wanted to write things I would like to feel as a reader. I wrote this story, and after that, I added a second longer part because I was enjoying it a lot. I used to doodle about the characters and make small annotations about their dynamics, but there wasn't really a lot of planning here.

(2) story two - beneath the moonlight

My second attempt was a three-chapter story (not so distant from the previous one that can be read as three parts too). But for this one, I wanted to challenge myself because I wanted to explore new themes and tropes, so I made a brief list of the things that should appear here. (but honestly, I just wanted to write a soft mating bite scene lmao, because I was super into a/b/o at that time.) I used keep notes app this time.

I barely showed explicit themes here but I got to enjoy the story anyway. This one wasn't difficult to write because I felt familiar with the characters. It's a light story but these 20k words gave me the courage to take a step further. I said to myself

"stop being a coward. you have enjoyed this. keep writing."

(3) story three - lucid dreams

This one was planned for four or five chapters, quite in the same line as beneath the moonlight. But, and the keyword is planned, it became a full 13 chapters as I developed the story and the characters. If I wanted it to be coherent then I needed to explain the things, build the context, and introduce the world. But it was also an experimental work. I took my notebook and listed the new things I wanted to try, such as - write in past tense - write first and edit later

my process was something like this • imagine random scenarios with pretty imagery as I listened to music • doodling the characters doing things so I didn't forget • open the notes app to write random sentences and dialogues in the middle of the night, I'll find a place for them later • dream about the story and daydream about the story

as for the physical notebook, I have scribbled A LOT there during the writing process.

(a little bit chaotic but functional enough)

One thing I wanted to keep in mind was the evolution of the characters, or in other words, how they were gonna be at the start and the end of the story. And this made things a lot simpler because it gave me an insight that was helpful whenever I had to decide what kind of decisions the characters would make along the story.

Parallelly, I was aware of my narrative flaws, as well as there was a lot of vocabulary and grammar that would escape me in a different language. So I used the notebook to do writing research. Some of my pages were like "how to write action scenes," or "tips for flat scenes." Whenever I felt blocked I read again these pages.

I'm going to copy down here some tips that were useful during the writing block days.

• read another book or fic you like, since sometimes, getting yourself caught by another writer's style can help you to flow through your own. • scroll on pinterest and try to find pictures that capture the vibe of your story, maybe try to describe them or setting a scene in a similar environment that you can see? • changing the setting (for example, day to night, or sun to rain) can add more variants and ambiental tools to play with. • or, changing the character's pov. maybe a scene feels flat because it's narrated by the wrong character. • use objects, not just the characters.

(4) finishing a story

To have an insight into the plot, I wrote the main scenes in really short sentences. That was useful for the first chapters, but suddenly I had 70K words of the story and a lot of details to track. Frequently I had to split chapters into two parts because the "short sentence" became a very long scene. See this comparison: the scenes' guide in the last chapters usually are fragmented into shorter scenes. That's how I avoided losing my mind as I wrote (?)

These are a few tips that were useful to me during this last part.

• write the important plot points as they are mentioned so you can come back to them later and don't forget about them. • keep a scrip to annotate significant things about the characters to make the story consistent. • notion pages is a great place to make inspo boards (usually I added 4 pictures for each scene). During the last chapter, I used the to-do list tool to keep track of the closed story points and the things that were yet to happen • list some of your favourite past scenes, those that have been nice to write, so you can pursue the same vibe again.

The last two months writing the fic I joined the nanowrimo to keep myself motivated but also to have an impulse. My only goal was getting the habit of writing everyday, not minding how many words (usually it was around 400-600 daily). I ended that month with 16k added on my wordcount (to me, that was a lot!). Since I enjoyed that little challenge, I did the same on the next month, resulting in finishing the fic :)

The most important thing during this time was remembering myself from time to time why I am doing this. Let me say I am an utter perfectionist, so I would easily get trapped in making-the-story-perfect, which would end in a writing block. So each time this happened I repeated to myself that I didn't want to write a good story. I just wanted to enjoy and have fun while writing a story, so I should write only things I enjoy. And this simple thing was incredibly helpful whenever I wasn't able to continue a scene.

I think that this is what most writers say, but now I have come to understand that it's true: just have fun. Write what you wanna read.

(5) the next story - requiem of the sleepless

This would be the third part of my first fic. I miss these unhinged boys and I have a little draft of (unholy) things I want to happen to them! Now I want to unlearn everything I know. I want this story to be zero planned, I just want to ~feel~ the characters and make a lot of random things happen. This is about not forgetting why I started, so here I am again.

Being a non-writer writing.

thank you for reading ♡ 

[tolyasword]

I was tagged by @slowtides to talk about what I've been reading lately! Here's a couple things I've read this year so far. I was a little slow with reading the first 4 or 5 months since I was finishing grad school, but I've read all of the above in the last five or so months. I can talk a little about each of them!

The Eye of the World - I finally started on The Wheel of Time series this year. A friend of mine in college about ten years ago told me to read this and with the show, I decided to give it a try. I really thoroughly enjoyed this first book. I found Rand and Mat's storylines a little less exciting than Perrin and Egwyane but otherwise I really loved this and I'm already reading book two! I really want to read the whole series.

Elantris - my very first Sanderson novel. I'm so glad I started with this one as it was his first (written and published) novel so now I can see how his writing has evolved. This was such an interesting concept and really fueled my imagination and made me want to write again. It was surprisingly easy to read (for some reason I was expecting his writing to be denser and harder to get through but now I realize why he's so popular!) and I flew through it. I really want to get my own copy and annotate it while rereading it.

Bloom Into You - A manga series recommended to me by a person irl for reasons. I haven't read manga in a long time and I've never read a non-magical manga before. It was super cute!

Where the Nightmares Go - was throughly enjoyable. The first and last stories in particular were WOW. The second one (I think it was the second, maybe the third) was so terrifying that I literally could not allow myself to picture it in my head as I was reading or I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep for like a week. Highly recommend if you like horror and uncanny fiction.

The Ex-Girlfriend of my Girlfriend.... - It was good! Very lesbian centric (I was feeling a little bi-erasure) but as I'm trying to explore my queerness, I was happy to read through these situations. The latter parts of the book definitely felt a bit more bi-positive and openly queer (umbrella term) so I think it was worthwhile to read. The bright colors and illustrations were also very fun.

Nettle and Bone - After graduating I read a lot of novellas because it was easier than full novels. This was my first T. Kingfisher and will not be my last. The topic was women and breaking cycles and dealing with family and finding independence and also about hot-silver-fox-fighters and demonic chickens. Cannot go wrong.

High Times In the Low Parliament - Another novella. Totally bizarre and amazing. Fae/faeries, government, sapphics, lots of drugs. It was super enjoyable and I think maybe the first novella I read after graduating??? So it's gonna stick with me. I might even purchase a copy.

Off With Her Head - What promised to be a historical breakdown of misogyny unfortunately turned into a repeated argument for 75% of the book, with the only actually engaging chapters being the ones with historical research. It will definitely make you angry if you are a women or are anti-patriarchy, but after a while the anger will get tiring until you get to The One Juicy Historical chapter. I don't usually read nonfiction so this was maybe not the best thing for me to read.

White Cat, Black Dog - I can't say much about this except that Kelly Link is my favorite short story author and I got this practically brand new book for $10 at a used book store. One or two stories were a little meh for me, but nothing downright awful. I love the way this is retellings of other fairytales but feels sooooo different you'd never know it until you read the acknowledgements or notice that the original tales titles are written at the beginning under the titles. I particularly loved the retelling of Tam Lin.

This is for anyone who wants to write a bit about what they've been reading or what's been engaging for them lately! If you want to share, please do! Also tagging a few people: @twoheartsoneclara @antoine-triplett @actuallylorelaigilmore @spellmansabrina @thyla

[sokokoko]

Writing Dump: A Tale Of Two Tyrants (Early Draft Chapter 1)

I shoulder my way through the congregation of people in front of the door, and into the classroom. Shrieking giggles and animated storytelling hushes, turning into low murmurs and badly whispered code. I shrug my bag off and take a seat at the back by the window.

The majority of my classmates linger by the door or top half of the room, under the guise of wanting more time with their friends. I already know that the back of the class will remain barren until the teacher makes his way here.

The sugary scent of bubblegum reaches my nose a few seconds before the one chewing pops the bubble. The explosive noise leaves my ears ringing with static and the girl with gum hanging limply from her mouth gives me a timid look. I don't know what she sees, but it's enough for the gum to drop out from her mouth and for her to scurry over to her assigned seat, in an attempt to keep away from me.

As she passes, she says, “Teacher’s coming,” in a stiff but loud voice. The other twenty-something students clamour about, trying to reach their seats in time. Most do. My ears wince at the scraping of chairs against the floor, making me desperately want to clap my hands over them and never hear again.

Mr Kenmore comes in with his no-nonsense face and a chunky copy of Macbeth, bulging with colourful notes and annotations. We all take out our much thinner copies and he says, “Open the book at act five scene one.”

The rustling of pages catch my ears and I can only open my book with a sigh. It's something I really don't want to do. The play is full of needless violence and crazy people who had plenty of opportunities not to go down this path.

“Everette, you’ll be Lady Macbeth,” Mr Kenmore says, breaking the quiet I so dearly loved. “Yanny will be the Gentlewoman and Una can be the Doctor.”

I pull my lips back into a sour expression and something churns inside me. Or is it burning? Both? The contents of my stomach mix around as if they were ingredients being stirred together to make a potion, whilst something hot flares up in my chest.

Kenmore purposely picks boys to read the girl parts and girls to read the boy parts, which I don't care about all that much. He does it for the supposed irony, his humour being what it is. But he rarely ever calls on me. I can only wonder, am I Lady Macbeth for the same type of irony that Yanny is the Gentlewoman? Because we're both boys? Or is there something else my teacher is laughing about?

My classmates' voices drone around me and I only catch the snippets of their words, waiting stiffly for my part to come.

“It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands. I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour,” Yanny reads in a posh voice.

The proceeding lines tumble out of my mouth, which runs like a broken tap, unable to be shut off despite everyone's endeavours.

“Yet here's a spot... who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?” I say.

Every line pushes the churning feeling up my oesophagus, like I'm trying to squeeze the last bit of ketchup out of a packet from a fast food restaurant.

“... What, will these hands ne'er be clean?”

“ … Here's the smell of the blood still.”

“... What's done cannot be undone— to bed, to bed, to bed,” I finish.

By the time I've run out of lines to say, my voice box too has run out of words. The walls of my throat cling together, as if sticky, but I know that's false. It's false because they're dry— too dry to speak, too dry to think beyond the urge to hydrate.

“Um, Everette?” Mr Kenmore asks, “I asked you a question. Are you… paying attention?”

My unseeing gaze rests on him and he probably sees the same thing in my eyes that Bubblegum Girl did.

“Never mind,” the man decides. “Una can answer it.”

Sweet how he calls the other students by their names or nicknames. Saccharine, in fact. The thought has bile coming up to dance across my tongue, in its bitter, spiked dancing shoes. As soon as the mechanical chiming of the bell sounds over the intercom, I rush out the door, liberating the others from having to walk on eggshells and ice. But most importantly, liberating myself from the four, constricting peach walls and their cheery English posters.

I speed away from the flurry of colour in my peripheral, but it chases me, all the way to the stairs that lead to the roof. I push open the rickety door that even the janitors only use occasionally. If no student is supposed to go to the roof, why make it so easy?

The prison walls are replaced by cotton candy blue skies and matching white clouds, which places a blanket of calm over my frenzied thoughts. The roof is open, wide and flat and there's a perfect nook for me to settle in by the door. It has a view of the ground below but protects me from falling with the railing. In addition, it hides me from anyone who opens the door but doesn't check either side thoroughly. And I just barely won't be hit by the door if I sit there. I squeeze myself into the space, looking down on the world below.

“Hiki Everette,” I mumble. Nothing in common with Lady Macbeth. Very dissimilar, actually. But turning my gaze to my hands sends another wave of bitter bile up my throat, burning it.

“Hiki, Hiki, Hiki,” I chorus. Not Lady Macbeth, not Everette, not Mad Dog, not son, not Tyrant. Beforehand, I never knew a name could hold such power. Or the withholding of a name. But it can. It can leave a gaping chasm of distance between people and segregate the world into ‘us’ and ‘them’.

I want to say it more, but I feel as if there's a limit to how pathetic a person can be. It's a redundant action anyways since it's not me who needs to say my name. My ribcage sinks down from its tense position and a shuddering exhale escapes me, and with it, the fight in me.

“Should I start a soliloquy? Should I confess all my sins and desires to the sky? Should I wonder if I'm making a difference?"

I hook my fingers on the gate and blurry green grass with shapeless blobs milling about greets my eyes.

“... Should I ask how they can tell I'm a monster?”

[abiiors]

Book

So excited to do (write) anything that you want to! week with prompts from @imightgetbetter. Adding all of these to my Series Masterlist

Monday - early matty (pre-notes/bfiafl)

In a small corner of a dusty, second-hand bookstore, two hands reach for the same book at the same time. Fingers brush against each other, electricity zings, all the usual ingredients of a meet-cute, except the boy is on a mission. 

‘I’m going to sound like a twat here,’ he shuts his eyes tightly then opens them with a sigh, ‘but I need that book more than you.’

You feel a bit dumbfounded. At least, he has the decency to look embarrassed but the fact remains that he still hasn’t let go of the book. 

‘Oh?’ you ask, still gathering your bearings, ‘you don’t even know what I need it for?’

‘I knowww,’ he groans, ‘but please! I need it back.’

You look at the boy properly. He truly does look desperate for the book. His face is all pouty and his eyes big, his hair sits like a curly, poofy mop on his head. You wonder if this look is supposed to work on people, if it has worked on people in the past. 

Maybe, maybe not. And as much as you don’t want to admit it, it is working on you a little bit. Okay, maybe a lot!

‘You need it…back?’ you give him a quizzical look. 

‘I need it back,’ he confirms. 

‘You see,’ he continues like he’s about to start a soliloquy, ‘my roommate got really drunk or really high, it doesn’t matter, my roommate got fucked up and decided to sell my books for some extra cash. Yes, yes I know, messed up but now I’m here to try to get as many of them back as possible.’

You open your mouth, about to say something, but he’s not done speaking. 

‘Please, I’ll buy you a new copy of this but not this one. This one has some…annotations.’

His face turns pink. His eyes wander a bit, unable to meet yours. And you have to admit, he has almost won you over. 

‘What’s your name?’ You bite your lip, hold back a smile.

‘Matt,’ he says, clearing his throat, ‘Matty.’

‘I don’t need a new copy, Matty. I just needed to check a few passages, that’s all.’ 

‘Oh.’ It’s a soft sound like he’s contemplating. ‘Well, in that case…’ he trails off and holds the copy in front of you. 

His copy of On The Road by Jack Kerouac is old and a bit wrinkled. The pages are yellowing and the spine is cracked but you have to admit, it looks well read. Well loved, even. 

‘I just need to jot down a few things,’ you tell him and he nods. 

When you settle down on the floor, a notebook and pen in hand, he does the same. You wonder if this is to snatch the book away if you stumble upon any of his annotations. He could wander around the bookstore while you did your thing but he wraps his hands around his knees and rest his chin on them. He’s not exactly subtle when he lets his eyes roam over you with barely concealed interest. 

‘What’s this for?’ he tilts his head to one side, and then as an afterthought, adds, ‘if I may ask.’

‘A paper on road trip novels,’ you answer distractedly as you flip through the page to find what you need. 

There are a few pencil scribblings here and there, quotes that are underlined and circled over and over again. There are doodles—few and far in between—but they make you smile a bit. You so badly want to stop and read the annotations but not when he’s sitting right there, watching you like a hawk. 

While you note down the things you need to, Matty gets restless. He picks up a pen and twirls it between his fingers effortlessly, picks up a second one and bangs them on his shins like drumsticks. The boy truly can’t sit still even when he lets you work in peace…for the most part. 

But you’re surprised that you don’t find it annoying. If anything, his fidgety restlessness is amusing. The way he stops every time you turn pages, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, ready to hide anything embarrassing. You feel tempted to linger on one of his notes just to watch how he’d react but they seem to have petered out as the book slowly comes to an end. 

You want to imagine this boy, in his bedroom or in a cafe or in a park, reading the book. His hands clutching it tightly, his face scrunched in concentration. He would be so absorbed that he forgets to note down any more of his thoughts. But something catches your eye as you turn to the penultimate page. 

Black ink has bled through. Until now, everything was in pencil, smudged, messy script but with a touch of gentleness. But this is much harsher, written in pen. 

His eyes widen, his hands freeze in place. Quicker than expected, he drops the pens and flips the page. 

‘What…’ he grabs the book in confusion and you let him take it away from you. His face changes from confusion to irritation, to gloom, to, finally, curiosity. 

His eyes dart over the dark scribblings. A crease forms between his eyebrows as he tries to make sense of the words. 

‘Wow, these are mental,’ he mumbles to himself. ‘God, these make no sense.’

‘I thought they were yours,’ you raise an eyebrow. 

‘No, someone else must have... Mine are much tamer compared to these.'

The curiosity gets the better of you and you have to ask, ‘can I see?’

‘Mmm, sure.’ He extends the book in your direction still holding onto one half of it. 

So you scoot closer, hold onto the other side. Your thighs touch momentarily, your heads are bent over it as both of you try to decipher the script. 

‘1 June, The 1975,’ you read aloud, trace the words with your fingers. ‘That’s a bit of a weird way of writing it.’

‘It is, isn’t it!’ He taps the space under the words, then tips his head back onto the shelves behind him. 

‘The 1975…’ he repeats and his voice has gone all soft and full of awe. ‘Has a nice ring to it, wouldn’t you say?’

[taterturnspages]

THE LOVE HYPOTHESIS BY ALI HAZELWOOD BOOK REVIEW

Genre(s): Fiction, Romance, Contemporary

No Spoilers

STAR RATING: 4.5/5

SPICE RATING: 2/5

SYNOPSIS:

Olive Smith, Ph.D. candidate at Stanford University, doesn’t date. Her relationship with science far outweighs any romance. Olive decides to give in and goes on a few dates with Jeremy…which were less than stellar to say the least. Olive and Jeremy did not last, but Olive’s best friend, Ahn, is interested in Jeremy, but refuses to pursue him because…girl code…duh. Olive convinces Ahn that she is dating other people, which is great…except she isn’t dating other people. Olive promises Ahn she is on a date, but she runs into Ahn late at night in the biology lab. So, Olive scrambles and starts kissing the first man she sees. That man is Dr. Adam Carlsen, a young professor known for his stern personality and tough-as-nails teaching style.

Olive and Adam agree to enter a fake relationship that will benefit Olive’s friendship and Adam’s career. Olive starts to learn that Dr. Carlsen isn’t quite what people paint him out to be. And after a disastrous science conference, Olive learns all about what Adam is really like. I mean…ALL about…

Olive discovers that her “relationship” with Adam is far more complicated that her scientific relationship. But, what will she do about it?

READ THIS IF YOU:

Want to giggle and swing your feet like a FOOL

Enjoy sarcastic banter between MMC and FMC

Love the pining and yearning between characters

Just read it. Trust me.

TROPES:

Grumpy x Sunshine

Fake-dating

Professor x Student

CHARACTERS:

Olive Smith:

I have a major soft spot for Olive. She’s had a tough life, yet still ended up in a Ph.D. program at a highly-regarded university with a solid future ahead of her. She’s diligent, selfless, strong-willed, and extremely intelligent. Her sense of humor is so nerdy and adorable, yet sarcastic and hard-hitting. I don’t say this about book characters often, but I found Olive to be relatable, especially to someone who has spent time in the academic system. I was rooting for her every step of the way during this book, and I think it’s hard to not like her. She’s such a sweet and kind soul that would do anything for the people she cares about, despite having the Earth weighing down on her shoulders in her academic career.

Adam Carlsen:

First of all, I am in deep love with this man. He is the perfect MMC, in my opinion. Let’s rattle through his qualifications, shall we? Tall; a professor; grumpy; sarcastic; knows exactly what to say and when to say it; mysterious; HOT; protective; and passionate about things he cares about. The amount of quotes from him that I annotated in my physical copy is probably embarrassing. He is single-handedly the reason that I smiled like a middle-school girl going through my first crush while reading this book. He is a man of very little words, but the small amount of words pack a giant punch. 

PRAISES, CRITIQUES, AND MY THOUGHTS:

As always, I’ll start with the criticism first. Don’t worry, there isn’t much. The biggest issue that I had with this book is that Olive lied a couple more times than necessary. I can’t decide if it was an intentional lie, or if she just feared healthy communication. In either scenario, I can’t get on board with it. One of my biggest frustrations with romance novels is when the characters miscommunicate. There wasn’t a ton of miscommunication here, though, which is why I only knocked off half of a star. I was also hoping for a little more spice in this book, and I was kind of disappointed with how little there was. Additionally, the plot was pretty predictable. I know that romance novels typically have a predictable ending, but I personally prefer a plot that surprises me. Otherwise, what keeps a reader engaged? Again, this is personal preference. Clearly, the praises far outweigh the critiques considering I only deducted half of a star.

So now, onto the praises. I loved the way that Ali Hazelwood wrote this book. I always want an author to show me what’s going on versus tell me what’s going on. There was enough description that you could picture the scene, but not too much description so you can still let your imagination personalize the experience a little. I think the characters worked seamlessly together and I firmly believe that if the characters were written ANY differently at all, this review would be drastically different. Ali Hazelwood knows chemistry (you didn’t think that you’d get through this entire review without a science pun, did you?).

I haven’t been head over heels for an MMC in a LONG time, so it says a lot that Adam Carlsen has me in my feelings. I rated this book so high purely because of his demeanor. Since this is a spoiler-free review, I don’t want to go further in detail about that, but the description of his character above should give you a good idea on what I mean.

Lastly, I didn’t learn until after I finished this book that The Love Hypothesis is a well-known Adam Driver fanfic???? I don’t know how to feel about that, haha. It makes perfect sense now that I know, but I had no idea while reading this that Adam Driver was the blueprint for Dr. Carlsen’s character. I honestly didn’t picture Adam Driver at all when I was reading this, so I guess if you aren’t a fan of him, then it’s not a huge deal. But, if you are a fan of him, then it should be easy to connect the dots while you read this.

I highly recommend this book, especially if you’re a fake-dating fanatic. I think the trope was written excellently by the author and it’s far better than most fake-dating novels that I’ve read.  

[marisolmoon]

How to Find Your Path as a Witch

Finding your path in your witchcraft journey isn’t always the easiest one. It’s so overwhelming at first, sifting through mountains of information that can take you infinite directions. Here, I have a rough outline of how I found my path and maybe it can help you find yours?

Research, Research, Research!

I know you probably have heard this a million times already, but we say it because it’s true! Researching topics in witchcraft is the only way to truly get started and headed on your way to finding your path as a witch.

Narrow it down by looking up popular topics in witchcraft online. It gives you a solid starting point to jump off of.

Delve deeper into your studies

Find physical books that you can annotate on the topics you decided to focus on. Having a physical copy is easier to flip through and easier to learn from in my opinion. Everyone is different though!

What type of witch are you?

After discovering a plethora of information you may now have an idea on what type of witch you want to be! This could range anywhere from Green Witch to Cosmic Witch to Hedge Witch. You are the creator of your own destiny.

Remember! It’s always okay to switch paths! If you feel like you’ve lost passion or interest in a certain path you chose, just start from the beginning again and let your heart lead you to the path you belong to.

Honing your craft

Once you’ve found out if you want to have deities, want to focus on herbs, crystals or moon magic for example, you’re finally ready to make a compilation of your studies.

I highly recommend obtaining a Book of Shadows or Grimoire for personal record keeping of your studies. You can find professionally made BoS and grimoires on Etsy the easiest, but if you want to use regular notepads as well go for it!

I personally have three separate BoS, one for general information & spells, one for correspondences and rituals and one for my deities. I’m pretty extra and I think it’s unusual to have that many BoS, but you do whatever you’re comfortable with. That’s what matters.

Finding your path

Ultimately after you’ve completed these steps you should have an idea of whether you have deities you worship or if you want to opt out of that and what type of witch you are.

Remember! Witchcraft is a craft and your personal craft can be anything you would like it to be! Finding your path just makes it easier to find what you truly want to study and dedicate yourself to.

[estellamiraiauthor]

The Stars May Rise and Fall: The Annotated Re-read (Chapter 1)

Hey there Tumblr, long time no see! Let’s try something fun and new!

So, a few years ago, when The Stars May Rise and Fall was first published, I tried to do an “annotated copy” as a giveaway—i.e. a paperback with all my little “making of” notes in the margins. That lasted… about three pages, before I gave up on writing legibly enough for anyone else to read AND on cramming everything I wanted to say literally between the lines.

But I still really do like the IDEA of a sort of on-screen commentary, and it’s feeling like about time for a re-read anyway. (Yes, I read my own book. Why write the book you want to read if you’re not going to actually read it, amirite?) So… why not do it here?

Feel free to read along, if you like. If you haven’t read The Stars May Rise and Fall yet but are just generally interested in Phantom retellings or whatnot, this first one won’t spoil anything you can’t get in the “Look inside” preview on Amazon, although future ones might. So grab a copy and join me?

Regret is a pretty strong word, and not one I’m sure I want to use at all about this book, which is very much the book of my heart, the book I wrote because I wanted to read it and it didn’t exist. But if I regret anything about it, it’s that I decided to make the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical the first version of Phantom I paid homage to. Now, I definitely don’t regret including the ALW Phantom in the MANY versions I ultimately ended up giving little nods too. Like a lot of angsty kids in the 90s, it was the version that really got me interested in seeking out others, after all. But seeing reviews (and before that, rejections from literary agents) saying that they stopped reading after two or three chapters because “it followed the ALW musical too closely”… maybe I should have modelled the opening scenes after a different version, or just done something entirely new.

Still, it is what it is. And back in 2004 or whenever it was when I first had the idea for a visual kei Phantom retelling, I didn’t really consider opening with any other format than the tried and true “Phantom character hears Christine character singing, reaches out through the mirror to offer help” kind of formula.

A lot of it was also shaped by the venue itself. While “Rock Eden”, the live house where Teru and his band most often perform, doesn’t exist by that name, it’s basically Meguro Rock Maykan—which is a real venue, that at the time looked the way it’s described in the book and is still in the same location. And I knew from the start that that was where I wanted to set my Phantom. While most live houses are standing room only, or might have a few bar stools at the back, Rock Maykan apparently used to be an adult theater (it was certainly SOME kind of movie theater; the adult part could be an urban legend), and as of 2000, when the book is set, had these old-fashioned theatre seats (which have since been removed) and a balcony that’s off-limits to ticket holders but could be accessed by venue staff and anyone with a backstage pass. I’ve also been backstage there, and the dressing room is (or was at the time), practically wallpapered with old backstage passes and graffiti… perfect for a story that so deeply involves the ghosts of both people and dreams.

So, the mirror was that backstage mirror, and “Box Five” was going to be that balcony. Because of course no one has private dressing rooms in tiny little hole-in-the-wall venues like this, I couldn’t have Rei, my Phantom, talking to Teru directly through the mirror, but I wanted that basic formula for the opening… for better or worse. Sorry, one-star Amazon reviewer?

One of the things I always kind of imagined people would ask me once the book was a big hit (haha!) was how, exactly, Rei heard Teru singing and managed to contact him. At one point, I had written part of that scene in Rei’s point of view as well, but ended up dropping that point of view entirely (again, to the chagrin of several reviewers). Maybe someday I’ll be famous enough to get to do a Midnight Sun from his POV? XD

Anyway, if you’re interested. Teru has a backstage pass that gets him into the dressing room (and the balcony, if he wants, but he doesn’t have any reason to want to go up there until later). But Rei has access to EVERYTHING, including places where only the venue staff would be able to go, thanks to Chizuru, his assistant-slash-former hair and makeup artist, who now works part-time at Rock Eden. This is never really laid out on the page, but my sort of headcanon is that the owner/manager (who also never appears on-page) is one of the few people in the industry who knows that Rei survived the accident that disfigured him, and that Chizuru basically got the job (despite having income from elsewhere) so that she could secure access for Rei so that he could continue to scout talent. Now, I don’t ACTUALLY know what the venue-staff-only areas look like (I’ve been backstage, but as a staff member for a band, not the venue itself)… but that’s at Rock Maykan. This is Rock Eden, the fictional version, so we can go ahead and assume that there’s some kind of back hallway that can’t be accessed from the dressing room, but is separated from it by a thin wall, and that Rei heard Teru singing and talking to his bandmates from there.

These shows also used to have flyers for each band. (I’m not sure if they still do; musicals and things have definitely cut back on the amount of paper they pass out.) Fans would receive a pack of flyers when they entered the venue, and Chizuru, as staff, could easily take a pack from the pile. So Rei hears Teru singing to himself, thinks he’s got the right voice for his music, and then Yasu comes in, and they start talking. At some point, someone uses Teru’s name, and Rei asks Chizuru to get him a pack of flyers, which he uses to figure out which band Teru is in. There’s only one Teru playing that night, so he’s able to use the flyers to figure out that Teru is the drummer from La Rose Verboten, so he knows who Teru is when he comes onstage, despite having only heard his voice before.

And I think he kinda falls in love right there. He doesn’t WANT to… ohhh, there are SO many reasons he doesn’t want to, and he doesn’t dare to think that there’s any chance that ANYONE would ever love him back, but somewhere, buried deep under a lot of trauma and denial, he sees Teru onstage—and Teru LOVES being onstage, he loves music and it absolutely shines through—and Rei, despite himself, wants to talk to him.

I think there’s a lot of internal warring with himself over the course of Teru’s set, which would be maybe 20 minutes long. Rei knows he shouldn’t, it’s SUCH a bad idea to reach out to this guy who’s got this beautiful voice but also is just So Gorgeous… but he has to. And he has these business cards, because this was before you could just wave your phones at each other to exchange contact information and that was how you’d make connections, so he sucks up his fear and writes a note, and gives it to Chizuru before he can lose his nerve.

And Chizuru knew where to drop it because all of these bands are using the same dressing room, and a lot of them would have the same or similar equipment, so they write their names on electrical tape and stick it to their stuff, so she found the equipment that said Teru and La Rose Verboten and was able to leave it where he would find it. In case anyone was wondering.

The actual structure of the chapter itself… I’m still not sure if I love it. This opening was ROUGH for me to write, partially BECAUSE I knew that I was opening with kind of a cliché scene and needed to make it enough of a “hook” to make people want to read beyond that. There were literally maybe about 50 versions of it over the years, and I ended up with the current version, where the whole “hearing the beautiful voice through the mirror” thing has already happened and is being recounted as a memory in past-perfect, and the “present” of the story is Teru later that night, back in his apartment, going through the same kind of internal battle over whether he’s actually going to call this mystery number.

Of course, he does, and I think this kind of mirrors what Rei must have gone through earlier (so, maybe I should’ve kept that POV?). He KNOWS it can’t possibly be an actual talent scout or record producer… but Teru and Rei both, despite being pessimistic over a lot of things, always have a little spark of optimism buried somewhere in there, too. So he calls. And he falls in love just a little with Rei’s voice too, although he also buries that deep because he’s so firmly in denial about his sexuality at this point.

This is another point I get a LOT of flack about—how unrealistic it is that Teru would just agree to go to this guy’s apartment when they don’t know each other at all. And all I can say about that is… I definitely did similar things when I was Teru’s age (21). Was it the safest thing to do? Nope. Would I want my kids doing the same thing? Hell no, absolutely not. But do 21-year-olds do stupid things sometimes? You bet! So, yes, I have gone to the tiny Tokyo apartments of people I didn’t know very well. Including men. Including older men. And I was fine, not because that was a good decision—again, it is MOST EMPHATICALLY NOT—but because I was lucky. Like a lot of the people who do a few stupid things in their youth are.

As far as whether this fictitious character in a work of fiction is supposed to be a role model or whatever—it’s a novel for adults, about some pretty complicated and dark and occasionally messed-up stuff. (See also Rei’s struggle to accept his disabilities… is it the Best Possible Reaction™️ to the situation? Absolutely not. But you can’t say it’s not a reaction that a human being could feasibly have.) I think it’s pretty clear that I did NOT intend this to be some kind of morality lesson on how to have the perfect relationship and love yourself in the process. I understand that some readers want every bad decision to have negative consequences… in the case of Rei, I think a lot of the self-destructive behavior eventually does. But yeah, Teru does something stupid and dangerous and doesn’t suffer because of it… and that happens to real people too, every day.

I honestly think a big part of it, too, was my terrible-in-hindsight decision to list this as LGBT+ romance on Amazon. It’s a love story. It’s not a genre romance novel. These characters weren’t written to be “romantic heroes” and in the end, I do wish I had just listed it as general fiction, because I think I inadvertently set up certain stylistic, character, and plot expectations that the story was never intended to meet.

So. The beginning. I don’t really love it. But it’s certainly a hell of a lot better than the very very first draft from 2005, which was basically a shitty songfic of X Japan’s “Unfinished.” :P

[warrior-of-waistbands]

Fic: Somewhere in here there's room for a library pun

In which Melvin's study session is interrupted by a certain someone with a bad haircut

(aka: remember this post? I salvaged and tweaked the rest of the fic because I decided I liked it after all. Melvin x Harold fluff set when they're a little older / Melvin is a disaster and I love him.)

//

Melvin slammed his locker door shut. On the wall next to it hung a colorful poster advertising that year's Homecoming dance (the theme: "Party Like It's 1989"), and when Melvin laid his eyes on it he scowled. Turning away now, he made his way down the sophomore wing hallway, moving briskly, barely stopping to sidestep all the other students getting in his way.

Right now it was lunchtime, and while everyone else was heading towards the cafeteria, Melvin was making his way to the library, intent on getting a head start on his biology midterms and maybe on his finals, too, if he could find the right textbooks. As he stepped into the air conditioned building, he took a look around, noting the emptiness, the quiet. He took a deep breath, taking in the wonderful scent of aging paper and ink. It was the perfect atmosphere for studying.

Not that he really needed to study for a simple biology quiz. Still, it paid to be prepared.

He made his way to the library's expansive reference section and got to work picking out heavy encyclopedia after hefty dictionary, carting his haul to one of the tables and settling down to read and take notes. From outside he could make out the faint sounds of teenagers laughing and talking, enjoying their forty-minute break from schoolwork.

Couldn't be him.

It was halfway through his study session, as he was busy copying down an interesting fact about mitochondria and what they powered, that he heard the library door open again; someone else was coming in and plunking their stuff down on a table not that far from his. Curious, Melvin discreetly turned his gaze towards the newcomer.

Harold Hutchins sat in the library with him, backpack thrown carelessly atop the table, a notebook open in front of him and a handful of colored pens scattered over it. He bent over said notebook, seemingly scribbling something in it.

Oh, great. Now what is he doing here? Melvin thought.

As Melvin sat there, staring, Harold raised his head, spotted Melvin, and smiled, raising his hand to wave—

Immediately, Melvin felt himself blush. He ducked his head back down, trying to force his eyes to focus on the open textbook in front of him. Shoot shoot shoot he saw me he saw—

"Hey, Melvin."

A startled sort of half shriek, half gasp left Melvin, and he immediately clamped his hand over his mouth in embarrassment. Timidly, he shot a glance at Harold, now standing before his table with his backpack slung over his shoulder and his pens and notebook in hand, smiling amiably.

"Hel—....good afternoon to you too, Harold," Melvin replied, clearing his throat, straightening his posture, desperately trying to play it cool while fighting to regain his composure. To keep from making further eye contact with Harold he busied himself with organizing his annotated index cards, shuffling them into piles once and again.

"How come you aren't out at lunch?" Harold asked. Melvin almost replied with, Shouldn't I be asking you the same question?, but he stopped himself at the last moment, choosing instead to say, "I'm getting ready for my biology test next week. One can never be too prepared." A new thought occured to him then, seeing Harold out of the corner of his eye. "Say....is George not with you today?"

"He's—he's here, but he's not here with me. Right now. Our English teacher wanted to talk to him today so...." Harold shrugged. "I told him I'd be down here. Hey, mind if I sit here?"

"Uh—" But Harold was already pulling out the other chair, plopping his backpack down on the floor under it. Crossing his arms on the table, he smiled again and turned to look at Melvin, not unkindly.

"Hey, are you going to Homecoming?"

Melvin frowned. "No, I don't think I will. School dances are a terrible waste of time."

"Shame." Harold held his gaze on Melvin for a moment, before suddenly turning back down to face the notebook he'd laid down on the table. Closed. Even so, Melvin could still see the odd look on his face.

Something about that look made something knot in Melvin's chest.

"I....assume you and George are going, though? Don't you two usually go to these kinds of things together?"

"Yeah, we are. It's just...." Harold ran a hand through his hair. "Just—I was also kinda thinking that....I'd maybe like to go with someone else, too. Someone who's....maybe a little more than a friend?" He threw another glance at Melvin and then back to the notebook. "Except....I don't really know how I'm supposed to approach this other person."

Melvin was blushing again, suddenly feeling very out of his depth. "Well, I—I guess the best way would be to just—just talk to them? Be direct?" He worried a pencil in his hands, unconsciously. A brief question flashed in his mind:

Who?

"I guess. Yeah." Harold was frowning now. Both boys sat in silence for a few minutes, contemplative. Somewhere amidst the bookshelves a clock ticked away, counting down the minutes until the end of lunch.

Eventually Melvin cleared his throat shyly and said, "I think....I think if it were me in your situation, I'd probably chicken out."

At that Harold laughed, earning him a stern look from the librarian, and said, "You? Chicken out? Since when?"

"I—feelings are hard!" Melvin turned his head away from Harold to hide the flush in his cheeks from him. "Unfortunately, not everything is as simple and fun as splitting atoms!"

"No, no, I get what you mean. This boy, he's rocking my entire world right now and I don't even know how to ask him if I can borrow a pencil." Harold chuckled. Looked back at Melvin, thoughtful. "Although....more I think about it, maybe the party scene isn't really his thing after all."

"....Well." Melvin didn't know what to respond. Again, the boys fell silent, eyes locked, both deep in thought.

Ask me to go to Homecoming with you, Melvin suddenly thought. A horrifying thought. He turned sharply away from Harold. Scared. Where the hell had that come from??

Harold was about to say something in response when the library door clattered open and a voice called out, "Harold! Tell me you're still in here!"

"Back here!" Harold called back, overtop the librarian's angry shushing sounds. Now George sauntered over to the table, slamming his hands down on the surface enthusiastically. "What's up, gents and germs?" he said, glancing back and forth between Harold and Melvin.

"Melvin here was just giving me helpful life advice," Harold answered playfully. Melvin threw him a sneer.

"Oh really? What, is he telling you the best places to stash your thermo-nuclear reactor?" George and Harold both giggled at that one. Melvin rolled his eyes.

"I see George has returned from his meeting, so I think I'll be leaving you two to it," Melvin said, making to stand up and grab his things. Fully intending to leave the two alone. But:

"Nah, it's okay. We were just leaving." Harold said, standing and stashing his notebook into his backpack. Slapping a hand down on George's shoulder, he added, "Come on, it's five minutes 'til lunch is over, we can still grab some potato wedges."

"Alright." George slapped Harold's shoulder in return and turned to Melvin. "See ya, Einstein," he said. Started turning towards the door.

Harold lingered for the briefest of seconds. He turned to Melvin, waved another shy wave with another shy smile. "Bye, Melv," he said. Grinned.

Another tight feeling in Melvin's chest. "Y-yeah....see ya," he answered. And much to his horror, his own hand got up and waved back.

Harold chuckled softly and smiled wider. A strange soft look in his eyes. Looking right at Melvin and his stupid waving hand. Smiling.

He turned. And George and Harold walked out of the library together, talking and laughing.

Melvin was alone in the library once again. This time, the quiet didn't seem nearly as welcoming.

He brought his waving hand to his chest and held it there, feeling the thump-thump of his heart behind his ribs. Somehow, it always seemed to beat faster when Harold was around....

Melvin bit his lip.

Who was he talking about?

Outside, out in the courtyard, Melvin heard the lunch bell ring.

[fictionthorn]

12 Days of Ficmas 2022: Day 12

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Elizabeth Rossi (ofc)

CW/TW: None

Word Count: 468

Summary: Garcia talks the BAU into an office wide Secret Santa.

This year Garcia insisted on doing an office wide secret Santa. She brought around a jar with all our names in it and had us pick one. I pulled JJ's name.

About a week after pulling names was when I decided to give JJ her present. I knocked on the door of her office.

"Come in," JJ said.

"I've got something for you," I said when I walked in.

I sat the gift basket I had put together down on her desk.

"Oh, so you're my secret Santa," JJ said as she started looking through the items in the basket.

"Yep and since you work so hard I got you all at home spa, self care things," I said.

"Thank you so much," JJ said. "Wait, what are these?"

She had pulled the three pieces of paper out from the front of the basket.

"Okay, so, this might be a little cheesy, but you can cash those in with me on any night for a guaranteed babysitter so you and Will can go out," I said.

"That's so sweet," JJ said, getting up from her desk to give me a hug. "So, any idea on who your secret Santa is?"

"No idea," I said.

"Hopefully you find out soon," JJ said before I left her office.

As the day went on, other secret Santas were revealed.

"Hey, Liz, do you have a minute?" Spencer asked, stopping by my desk.

"Yeah, what's up?" I asked.

"I pulled your name for secret Santa," Spencer said as he  sat a gift bag on my desk. "It's not much, but I hope you like it."

The first thing I pulled from the bag was a copy of The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allen Poe.

"I love this cover," I said.

I started flipping through the pages only to find that the margins were full of writing.

"Did you annotate this?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's just some thoughts and stuff," Spencer said.

"I can't wait to read them," I said. "Plus it gives me an excuse to read Edgar Allen Poe again."

"I had a feeling you'd say that," Spencer said. "There's still one more thing."

I checked the bag and saw a small jewelry box at the bottom. I took it out and opened it. There was a silver raven necklace inside.

"I love it," I said.

"You were the first one I thought of when I saw it," Spencer said.

I got up and gave him a hug.

"Could you help me put it on?" I asked.

"Sure," Spencer said, taking the necklace from me.

I moved my hair out of the way so he could close the clasp.

"What do you think?" I asked when I turned around.

"It looks beautiful on you," Spencer said with a smile.