#for me i think being rejected from spaces i was welcome in before might also have to do with white femininity

[thirstywoso]

Take me out to the ball game - Jessie Fleming x Reader (platonic and fluffy)

A/N: the person that inspired this fic doesn't know I've written it but it's short, fluffy and platonic - it's also rushed and messy and please know that I don't know the first thing about baseball and that's why it lacks detail 😭

Warnings: None

W/C: 1.5k

Synopsis: You help Jessie feel welcome in Portland

You'd been at Portland a few years before Jessie had joined, that didn't mean the all too familiar feeling of being a newbie was a distant memory. In fact you remembered how nervous you were making new friends, learning the new drills and fitting into the routine and lifestyle at Portland. Most clubs were similar with the way they spaced out and scheduled gym sessions, pitch training and analytics, it just was different to your old club. Settling into a new city was also hard and even with familiar faces on the team it took you some time to feel fully comfortable.

That's why when Jessie came to Portland you decided to take on the roll of big sister, even though she was a year or two older than you. You had always taken people under your wing and had a caring nature but something about Jessie and the way she spoke and would intently listen to you wasn't something you hadn't experienced before.

You'd been spending a lot of downtime with the girl, her first week you showed her around the city and showed her places and amenities that would be of benefit to her, last week you'd spent your time helping her settle into her apartment as her belongings that she had sent over from London started to arrive along with the new furniture she had ordered.

Each evening after training you'd find yourself on the floor of Jessie's apartment with a few beers and takeout containers from somewhere or another. This was Jessie's treat most nights as a thank you for helping her to put together all her flatpack furniture and organise her apartment into the way she liked.

It was Friday night and you were sat with her on her bedroom floor, she had a mattress that she had been sleeping on but that morning her new bed frame had come.

As per usual you were sharing a crate of beers that you'd bough over, whilst screws, nuts and bolts neatly laid out next to the instructions that you'd set out ready for your "adult legos"

"Okay so part A" you say picking it up "goes into part B" you scan the floor for said part before looking over to Jessie who had it in her hand. "Aha that's it, if you pass me a screw from pile one then I'll secure them" you let her know. She does as you ask and you put them together.

It doesn't take long, swapping between roles of securing the beams and holding things in place/ grabbing the bolts. Within an hour or so Jessie's bed frame was put together and you'd placed the mattress on top and assisted her in making up her bed, you then both retired to her couch that you'd helped put together a few days before, you sat there finishing up your beers and chatted late into the night seeing as Saturday was an off day for you both.

"So, as an apology for having you over here every night to help me put together my apartment, I was thinking you could come over and I'd make you dinner and we can relax for a change?" Jessie offered

"I mean.." you start scratching your neck "I'd love to take you up on that offer, believe me, I'm just thinking about going to Seattle to watch the Mariners play" pausing because you didn't want to reject the offer "I am so down to do another night though" you give.

"Oh, yeah sure sorry! I didn't even think, you've spent every night here all week that I forgot you might want time to yourself and never even thought you'd have plans and that's on me, mariners huh? Is that baseball? I'm not sure I've never really watched it, and if I'm honest I don't understand it, you like baseball? I never knew that!" She rambled out really fast almost tripping over her words, slightly embarrassed by her assumptions.

You grab her arm stroking it gently, "shh Jessie, it's cool don't worry about it" you wait for her to breathe before carrying on "yes, I do like baseball, I also haven't minded a single minute hanging out with you, It's just been awhile since I went to a game, you can come with me if you like?" You ask her.

"I wouldn't want to intrude, I also know nothing about baseball" She tells you.

"You are not intruding, I'm going by myself and it would be nice to have company, I can also teach you? Only if you want?" You say somewhat hopefully.

"Okay that would be nice!" She accepts your invite.

-

The next morning you pick Jessie up from her apartment and stop off at the store for a snack run, grabbing various sugar filled treats and some sodas.

As you drive you become even closer with Jessie, both sharing anecdotes and stories about your lives, finding out your shared love of artisanal coffee, passion for photography and love of a good hike. You fell into a rhythm of telling stories back and forth until you arrived at the stadium.

You'd worn your baseball jersey and gave one to Jessie to wear, once inside you'd told her you wanted to treat her to the entire baseball experience, buying her a hot dog and a beer from one of the vendors before finding your seats.

You gave Jessie a quick run through of the game and told her about how many innings there would be and how the scoring would work.

Throughout the game Jessie began to pick up on various rules and was starting to better understand how baseball worked, at one point excusing herself to the restroom. You'd offered to show her the way but she insisted you stay and watch, when she returned she had the face of a kid in a candy store.

In each hand was a novelty miniature baseball helmet made of plastic filled with ice cream, "I didn't know if you'd want one but look how cool these are! They said we can keep them when we are done too!" She squealed excitedly, you couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm.

Really appreciating the way she was taking in something you loved and was enjoying it, making the experience of one of your favourite things just that much better.

You thanked her and took the ice cream that probably cost way too much but you appreciated the gesture, you began to eat it and couldn't help but smile at the way Jessie kept giggling at hers.

"Next time remind me to buy you a beer in a baseball bat" you laughed, until she looked at you mouth agape in shock.

"That's a thing!" She exclaimed, to which you just laughed again in reply as you nod your head.

"It is"

"I need one!" She practically squealed

"Next time" you laugh

"Fine" she agrees with a mock pout.

"So how long have you been a mariners fan?" She asks after a few minutes of you sitting in comfortable silence.

"Well actually I'm not a Mariners fan, I just enjoy watching all of the teams. I am however a big cubs fan"

"Oh yeah, Chicago right?"

"Yeah, my dad use to take me when I was growing up and it kinda just stuck" you say with a shrug

"That's really sweet, I used to go with my dad to watch ice hockey growing up, in fact my whole family kind of grew up playing ice hockey. I think they were more than surprised when I took up soccer as my profession instead of becoming a professional hockey player." She tells you about her childhood, which you found somewhat comforting.

The way Jessie spoke and expressed herself filled you with an almost calm feeling, it was nice to have a friend that you felt so relaxed around that didn't drain you of your energy.

You also couldn't help but feel warmth from seeing how excited the small freckled Canadian would get at all the tiny things she noticed during the game.

Afterwards you headed back towards Portland, Jessie yapping away about how much she enjoyed the game and would love to do it again, she also promised that she would make you dinner another night of your choosing.

You agreed that any day would work for you and told her you enjoyed her company tonight and how excited you were to do it again.

Beaming at you from the passenger seat she nodded her head in agreement.

Before you knew it time had sped by and you were dropping her back at her apartment, returning to yours you felt somewhat bitter sweet that the night was over but you were also excited for the next time you could take her to a game.

[bkdk-art]

Okay. I need to get this out because this idea is literally haunting me.

So, welcome to my brainrot on how the fight between Izuku and Shigaraki / OFA and OFA will play out and how Katsuki could play a part in it 🙌🏼 Even though I know it's never gonna happen like this but anyways, let me dream a little.

[Edit: I wrote this before chapter 403 came out and our beloved returned 🧡]

I always come back to imagining the final, crucial confrontation would somehow end up happening in the vestige realm with Izuku und Shigaraki being on opposite sites and AFO trying to steal OFA from Izuku, just like in the Paranormal Liberation War Arc.

And I feel like this time the battle of emotions might be more challening for Izuku and the former OFA holders. Because, yes, they are still seven people and All Might's vestige has even more to bring to the table after his fight against AFO but so has AFO himself and Shigaraki as well. I mean, the LOV has been defeated, all his friends are in critical states, he's feeling used by AFO etc. etc.

So imagine, the forces collide and it seems to look not so well for our heroes, doom hanging not just over them but over all of Japan.

But that's when Katsuki steps in.

And in my head it plays out like this: Katsuki is entering the scene, maybe only a panel of his shoulders (him being in his UA uniform) is shown, the his feet, the drawing just hinting on him and suddenly the OFA side gets brighter and stronger and all sorts of emotions fill the space.

Namely, Katsuki's confidence, his anger, his ambition, his insecurities, his determination - with every step there're more emotions.

And then he stops, right next to Izuku. The greenhead is just shellshocked, not understanding how Katsuki is in the vestige realm to begin with and he's also so overwhelmed to see Katsuki looking like himself and not like the corpse Izuku had to witness earlier.

Katsuki, now standing next to his nerd, looks at Izuku with that soft expression that has been driving us all crazy lately and a new wave of Katsuki's emotions starts filling the realm: Tenderness, deep regret about his past behaviour, the frustration he used to feel towards Izuku when they were little and a new frustration about Izuku being too reckless, mixed with gut wrenching worry and fear, pride about Izuku's development and so, so, so much more, but all of this is nothing compared to when Katsuki holds out his hand to Izuku and-

Love. The love-kanji becomes dominant, taking up a full panel or even a full page, boosting OFA's fight against AFO's grip.

Izuku is still too stunned to think or understand anything but he would never reject Katsuki, so his hand moves on its own, wanting go grap the blond's but then he staggers, the thought of "control your heart" paralyzing him.

Because how can Izuku control his heart when it comes to Kacchan? Suddenly he's way too scared to take Katsuki's hand because everything could blow up in their faces and they can't risk one single slip against their opponents.

Daigoro, the fifth holder, who said those words all those months ago, is the one to snap Izuku out of his spiraling by saying: "Don't worry, kid, following your heart is important too."

That's all Izuku needs. He launches forward, intertwining his fingers with Katsuki's and slinging his other arm around the blond's shoulders.

Izuku lets all his suppressed feelings for Katsuki come to the surface, a storm of emotions rages through the realm and that's when AFO is hurled out of the domain, maybe even Shigaraki but leaving little scared Tenko there.

And there they are, Izuku and Katsuki, clinging to each other for a heartfelt moment until Katsuki mumbles something like "Don't you still have an ass to kick out there?"

Izuku leans back, tears in his eyes and makes Katsuki promise that they'll see each other again in the real word, that Katsuki has to come back to him. Katsuki makes the promise with a smirk, asking Izuku where else he was supposed to go.

Sharing a last, calm eyecontact in all of this chaos, Izuku gets back to end things with what's left of AFO and maybe even Shigaraki and the final fight is over, Edgeshot and Jeanist manage to save Katsuki, hero society needs to be rebuilt and all of that stuff and ~ the end.

And I'm very aware of the fact that it's not gonna play out like this but storywise it would work! Balancing the "control your heart"-theme in a more healthy way because up until now, it only has lead Izuku to supress stuff. And it would also resolve Katsuki's presence in the vestige realm and would make him the key to winning against AFO.

Because we all agree he has to play some part in it, right? But in my eyes, there's no way Katsuki could return to the real live battle field. I mean, half of his face and his dominant arm have been crushed, not to mention his heart (!) exploded (!!).

So. Yeah, that's it, that's the brainrot living rentfree in my head.

Okaythankyouforreadingthisbye ♡

[nerdyqueerandjewish]

Jewish question, if you have musings or advice. Have you ever dealt with secular Jews who dissect people about Jewishness? I've followed your blog through jumblr for a long time and in the last year I've experienced this problem, where someone started a rumor in the community that I was "pretending to be Jewish" because they found out I have Catholic family- from other people, because I am very upfront about my life when asked. But they never asked, and seemed touchy or angry about religion so I wasn't going to bring it up out of context. It felt like they were trying to pick apart my life and identity via strings of rumors. I spoke to a couple rabbis and they said I don't owe people shit if they are not part of my life in a close way. But I also don't want to misrepresent myself or past. I know I don't owe people shit, but just wondering if anyone else on jumblr has dealt with this kind of thing. Either from an interfaith or convert or both perspective. For what it's worth this person also didn't seem to trust my word about other parts of my life (my family's experiences with drug abuse and death) because I seemed to chipper or happy to have known that kind of trauma (which felt gross in a different way). On the note of Jewishness, I've never encountered that attitude in progressive religious Jewish spaces, that are pretty accepting of complex family dynamics and interfaith. Even modern Orthodox spaces have been welcoming when I disclose my family details. I'm wondering if you've encountered this, and any thoughts you might have. I'm asking others too, but part of asking your blog is knowing you have spoken openly about conversion.

Ugh I’m sorry that you’ve experienced that, the starting a rumor thing really sucks. Haven’t had anything like that happen but I’ve had one-off weird interactions. I remember talking about name origins with someone and my mom’s maiden name came up which is very German and they took that to mean that I wasn’t “really jewish” and that my family somehow had nazi connections or something. Which like 1) lots of jews have “German” last names 2) the vast majority German families in my geographic area were here well before the rise of the Nazi party 3) my grandpa, who passed on the name to my mom, is literally adopted and is Irish anyway. 4) even if what they were thinking was true, like, it’s not some random person’s place to grill me about it (and wouldn’t it be just a delicious fuck you to the nazis to have their grandchildren / great grandchildren happily become jewish?)

Like I get they were coming from a place of trauma but it was still just… not good.

I believe the majority of non-religious Jews are supportive or at least neutral towards conversion, but there are some who have hang-ups about it. I try to remember it’s a “them” thing and not a “me” thing. If they primarily relate to being Jewish as only an ethnic background and family history, my existence challenges that idea, and people respond in sometimes weird ways to having their frame of reference challenged. I think these scenarios also stand out because we are mostly expecting rejection of Jewishness to be on religious grounds, and also it can be difficult to deal with because it’s not like you can be like “wow lashon hara huh :/“ if they don’t care about that sort of thing.

[avoidantrecovery]

My little theory of everything

I have been trying to understand how perhaps trauma can come to manifest itself in something like AvPD. This is just my own theory, based on the reading I have been doing and how all these things relate to me, personally. Here is what I came up with:

Event happens

Now, one of the most interesting approaches I heard about trauma more generally, is that traumatic events don't necessarily have to result in trauma. When we are in a life or death situation, obviously the 4Fs get activated: fight, flight, freeze or fawn. This is something we cannot control, because it happens on a physical level in our bodies. Our heart rate goes up, adrenaline shoots into our bodies, our muscles tense up, we are looking out for danger and are on high alert, ready to react before we even think about it. It is something that we have in common with many other animals.

After encountering a life-threatening situation and surviving, we have to get out of that heightened state. Animals will usually shake themselves off before bolting away, this has been observed in deer for example. This regulates the body and essentially brings them back to their baseline. A deer can go back to chomping on grass within five minutes of nearly being eaten by a lion, no trauma at all.

In humans I've read that physical activity helps in a similar way, but most of all it's other people. What happened immediately after experiencing the potentially traumatic event? Were you able to run, put space between yourself and the event? Were you able to confine in someone? Did you have a space to return to and be welcomed and re-included in a safe group? It is said that humans also co-regulate with others. Meaning, if we are in a heightened state, but have someone with us whom we trust, they can bring us out of that state through touch, such as a hug for example. They feel safe, so we feel safe and our body functions calm down to regulate with theirs.

If we were not able to do any of the above, we can stay in that heightened state perpetually and trauma begins to eat at us. So trauma is formed because of what happens after the event. Were we able to resolve it, or not? And things even become more complicated when we're talking about interpersonal trauma, where the damage being done might not even be obvious immediately.

Unconscious desire for safety & the denial of the self

I think that especially with interpersonal trauma, the desire for safety arises immediately afterwards. We want our parents to not abandon us, we want our peers to include us, we want society at large not to other and reject us. We do it without thinking, we begin to deny our true selves. I have a theory about four ways in which we might do this:

Internalization. This includes things like suppression, self-harm and self-destruction, guilt, self-blaming behaviour, depression.

Externalization. This includes things like projection on others, aggression towards others, inability to self-reflection, lack of emotional regulation.

Avoidance. This includes isolation, avoiding people, places or situations that relate to the trauma, repression, hyper-independence and self-reliance.

Split. This includes compartmentalizing ones' personality, fawning, masking, people pleasing.

I think that that there can be overlap between those four types and that you can have a bit of everything, with one perhaps sticking out more. Being able to react this way to the traumatic event is what gives a sense of safety and perhaps a temporary relief from feeling on edge and in that heightened all the time. It is not healthy behaviour and not a permanent solution, but a coping mechanism.

I also think there are catalysts as I call them, that essentially intensify and keep us in this state. Some of these include:

shame

anxiety

self-hate

disgust

At least these are the ones I struggle with the most, there might be more out there. And I feel like they keep me in those states mentioned above. You know, that "voice" that says your are pathetic anyway, nobody likes you. Each time I try to come up with a way to escape those states, I become overwhelmed with either shame, anxiety, self-hate or disgust. I think it increases the sensation of danger and possibility that the traumatic memory might repeat itself. And in order to feel safe again, I revert to the internalization, externalization, avoidance and/or split. Essentially, it's a trap and vicious circle.

The atrophied true self

I think that the true self, the one we denied and repressed in order to deal with the the trauma, continues to exist somewhere below the surface. And I think that repressing it is what is part of the pressure and discomfort we feel. Deep down we know there was never anything inherently wrong with us and we want to return to/ reconvene with this true self. But the stuff above is what is stopping us.

The question is how to resolve the trauma and get back to the true self? I don't know if this is making any sense, but it's kind of my little theory of everything.

[elevatorladylady]

Critical Reread - ACOFAS Chapter 21

Join me on a reread of A Court of Frost and Starlight

Chapter 21 - Cassian/Nesta

Cassian confronts Nesta after the solstice party.

“Could barely register moving aside his High Lady to get to the front door.”

They have such a weird power imbalance in their “family”

“Beautiful. Even with the weight loss, she was as beautiful standing in the snow”

What?!? A man finding a skinny woman attractive? Wild!

“And you didn’t say one gods-damned word to me the entire night. Not that he’d said a word to her.”

And this is the kind of stuff that makes me dislike Cassian. He feels owed some kind of conversation from her even though he can readily admit he didn’t make the effort. He was the one who was more comfortable at the party, and he didn’t do anything to make her feel welcome.

“He understood. He really did. It had taken him months—years—after his first battles to readjust. To cope. Hell, he was still reeling from what had happened in that final battle with Hybern, too.”

If a seasoned general is reeling from a battle, I think it’s reasonable that 20-something year old might need a lot more time and space to recover from a battle she was dragged into.

“Your Solstice present.” “I don’t want one.”

I was about to say Nesta is just being rude here, but I also think that this is not the ideal way to gift something to someone who is clearly wary of the relationship. Why wouldn’t she see the gift as something with strings attached? Leaving it at her door would have shown he didn’t expect anything in return.

“Just as he’d been well aware of the money he’d seen Feyre give to Nesta moments before she left.

He wished she hadn’t. Wished for a lot of things.”

Why exactly does Cassian care that Feyre bribed Nesta to come? He’s almost as willing as Feyre to be pushy when it comes to Nesta.

“Why should I have to try to do anything?” Her teeth flashed. “I was dragged into this world of yours, this court.” “Then go somewhere else.”

I would try to be generous that he’s trying to suggest something that might actually make her happier, but since he admits immediately after that she doesn’t actually have anywhere to go, I can’t help but see this as a reaction to rejection. Like if she won’t cozy up to the IC, she should just go somewhere else.

“Stop following me. Stop trying to haul me into your happy little circle. Stop doing all of it.”

And they still can’t figure out that she would prefer individual relationships with certain people and not just get lumped in with the Inner Circle.

“Your sisters love you. I can’t for the life of me understand why, but they do. If you can’t be bothered to try for my happy little circle’s sake, then at least try for them.”

Firstly, fuck Cassian for implying that loving Nesta is beyond comprehension. Second, she needs and wants her sisters to meet her on terms right now and they have refused.

“As if he were nothing. As if he weren’t worth her time. The effort. A low-born Illyrian bastard.”

Let the record show, that she did not say this to him. He just assumes she feels this way about him.

“She could barely stand to hear the crack and pop of the wood. Had barely been able to endure it in Feyre’s town house. Snap; crunch.”

Oh look, she actually has a perfectly valid reason for being uncomfortable in Feyre’s home and she was not “just being difficult”.

[legendheroes]

Welcome, this blog is full on delusional and crossover art/stuff between the Digimon TV series protags. Ah, and stuff from that peculiar XW AU setting i didn't shut up about on my artblog last year LOL.

Expect chaos and shitposts here. Also some canon divergence because some series i didn't rewatch for a long long time ago.

There's only love and unhinged energy here. Daisuke might be present in most of those because yeah, i love this kiddo a lot.

I won't tolerate any series/game/manga hate in this space. If you don't like any of them, please unfollow/block me instead.

Askblog → @tomorrows2top Artblog → @digitalgate02

Call me Ni (she/they), btw. Please be over 18+ to follow this blog, since some stuff might be not recommended for minors (mostly language, i don't draw/write NFSW/smut stuff). And don't steal or edit my stuff please! If you don't agree with my headcanons or ideas please politely block or mute this account 💦 I accept fact checking/corrections, but as long they're done in a non-passive-aggressive or non-mockery sense. And yeah, my English my not be perfect as well (and i can only read kanji and so little stuff in Japanese, having to double check stuff with friends with better skills than mine orz)

Blog status: lurking

↓ Some important things to be said regarding asks are below the cut ↓

I won't write/draw AUs or Stories/Fanfictions, OCs or even headcanons/theories from other people. Even the old ones i've collaborated with i prefer to not touch them again (because, i lost contact with people and also lost all the posts/details of them )

Please avoid sending me many of "what do you think of [X]" questions because sometimes those kiiiinda make me get no idea what to answer, or perhaps i've been answered/posted something related to it before. Even so, if you would like to send one of those, first check if i hadn't answered it or something similar to it first!

At this moment, this blog is me being delusional about the AU thingy on the pinned post. Most of those posts might be about them.

My memory is foggy about certain series, so if i end up misremembering something... Yeah, please contact me asap.

I know i've said this on countless accounts but, I have little to zero knowledge of the American dub, so my portrayal/answers/headcanons/etc are all based on the original Japanese version and sometimes stuff borrowed from the BRPT dub (which is mostly the same as the original JP for most of the series -- except Fusion). So please, don't assume that I had watched the US dub or that I am American.

My stance on the digimon (monsters) are that there's more than one of each species within the multiverse. So, Daisuke's V-mon/Magnamon, OG & Reboot Taichis' Agumon/Omegamon and Takato's Guilmon/Dukemon are not related to the Royal Knights.

I will follow all canon material if possible when working with canon versions of the characters, BUT only what i can work with. If something gets in conflict with the main TV series (Adv99-02-Tamers-Frontier-Savers-XW-Appmon-Adv2020-GG) i will reject the contradictions and use only the stuff not affected or influenced by it. Basically playing with the idea the events we know in certain media are played differently in-universe, adopted from Pixiv Dictionary. Explained better by Shiha in this post here.

I don't like passive-aggressiveness. If you have something to correct in my posts, please do it politely.

Usual common etiquette -- No hatred towards people's religions, sexual/romantic orientation, gender (or lack of), PoC, ethnicities, etc. I won't hesitate to block if needed.

Do not edit my art or repost it. If you wanna use it as an icon/sidebar, ask first. And no, you cannot use my art on A/I & N/F/T for ANYTHING. If you do that, I will block you immediately.

If you like, ship them in the age of the AU setting, please don't ship the adults with the minors. I beg you to not tag me in anything suggestive about 20yo!Daisuke/Tagiru. Please. (however i do accept any adult Daisuke/Takato and adult Takuya/Daisuke SFW content.)

[diedinflorida]

there are a lot of hateful transmasc people out there, there are misogynists, a lot of guys willing to use their masculinity in shitty ways. i wish we had healthy support systems to lift guys out of that instead of the hatred they get sucked into when people turn their backs on them for the "sin" of being men. i've seen it happen, i've experienced it. a transmasculine person is one of the "good females/femmes" (even if they dont id as such) until they reach a certain point (whether they start T or simply reject the all men are evil rhetoric) and all solidarity is lost. of course that's going to feel bad. if you're continuously isolated and told these same t/erf talking points over and over again, you're going to become bitter. i'm fighting bitterness every day, seeing so many posts shitting on people like me. i have one person to talk to about this, who is my sibling (who isn't transmasc). i have no support group, no close friends, and i feel like if i were more inclined towards being a shithead, i would be taking it out on internet strangers who post transphobia. we desperately need these discussions and words and communities, unless people want to breed more awful guys who take it out on women.

really though it fucking sucks. you lose the community you had because you've "escaped oppression" (god i wish). you lose friends because their opinions on your identity are more important than your identity. you are rejected from spaces that welcomed you before because you're not feminine enough to be safe anymore. suddenly you're one of the Bad Guys, and there's nothing you can do about it. you're not allowed to talk about it. you have to bottle it up because don't you want to be just like a cis man? and if you do talk about it you're upholding the patriarchy. there's no winning.

i dont expect lots of people to see this post but please approach with sympathy and not hostility. men and masculine people should not be your enemy. the patriarchy sucks for us too

[skiyoosmi]

post-break up heartaches

verse 1. in the car that used to drive us to our home

⤷ kuroo tetsurou, oikawa tooru — more characters coming soon

⤷ verse 2 | verse 3

⤷ play. never let me go by ghostly kisses, forget about us by clinton kane

commissions: open

⇢ KUROO sighs for the umpteenth time of the day. he was so fucking exhausted and his body's about to give in to sleep any moment now. work has been beating his ass; there was this newbie who kept on messing up the documents needed by the board and for the whole day, he had to be the one to fix said issues. it's not like he wasn't paid enough for that; if anything, his paycheck was one of the most beautiful things he laid his eyes on— but god, even his body has its own limits and yet...

"ya.... yer not supposed to do this anymore. y-ya left me, remember?" you slurred, index finger pointing right at his chest as he circled his arms around your waist, huffing as you practically dropped all your weight on him. here he was, suddenly given the task of having to take you home after your supposed-to-be designated driver, miya fucking atsumu, also drank his brains out with you.

"be patient. still heartbroken because of you, y'know?" kenma softly tells him despite the tipsy feeling lurking in the back of his mind, shaking his head as he looked at you, whose system finally shut down and were now dozing off in the black haired man's arms.

"..... still?" he mumbles, looking down at your figure and he feels his heart contract with pain all over again.

"you can't expect her to be fine immediately, kuroo. it was your wedding day, supposed to be the greatest day of her life and yet it became the worst one... you left her at the altar alone."

he didn't reply anything— or rather, he was unable to. because what can he say to refute the truth? nothing. instead, he proceeded to his car with you still in his hold. he places you on the passenger seat, locking the seatbelts before jogging to the driver's side.

the car ride was calm as you slept soundly with your head occasionally hitting the window lightly as it swayed from side to side. he was sure as hell that if you were sober right now, you wouldn't even have the thought of seeing him cross your mind. he just knows for sure that you despise him with your whole being... at least, that's what he thought until...

"i'm sorry, tetsu. please come back," you whimper in your seat, voice quiet but he heard it nonetheless, "tell me what i did wrong so i can fix it."

the pitiful sounds and mumbles you made struck kuroo right in the heart and which makes him pull over an empty but safe road, just a block away from your (previously shared) apartment. looking over your form, he finds himself reaching out to touch your face, caressing your cheeks as drops of tears fell down slowly on them, "you didn't do anything wrong. you were fine. you were so perfect."

you squint your eyes at him, probably wondering if this was real or just a part of your drunken imagination. nonetheless, you hiccuped, "y-you... you left me and i... i still can't even bring myself to hate you... i just wanna ask you why? i just want to understand."

he thought he also knew the reason why but every single time he thinks about it, he's only led to one conclusion: because he was a coward. no way was this any of your fault— it's definitely not your fault that right at that moment, as he stared at the mirror, wearing the black suit you chose for him, the sudden fear of commitment loomed over him. it's not like it was your fault he suddenly got scared of losing you the way his parents lost each other. but now he thinks it's ironic, because he lost you anyway.

maybe... just maybe, if he had just met you where you stood at the altar, instead of leaving you alone in it, maybe he would've been happier. maybe his days would've started more with a smile from you as you helped him fix his necktie before going to work. maybe, the working hours he spends in the shitty corporate world would've been more worth it if it meant he can come home to you at the end of the day. maybe... maybe he wouldn't have to be stuck with this lump in his throat as he wonders what could've been happening if he just chose to show up and vowed his life to you.

but he didn't.

"i realized i wasn't just ready to tie my life with anyone yet. that's all there is to it, yn."

so with a heavy feeling stuck in his chest and a quiet promise to never see you again for the sake of not hurting you further, he starts the car's engine again, ignoring the words you replied but he was sure they will haunt him for a very long time... again.

i can wait for you no matter how long it takes, tetsu, you know that.

⇢ OIKAWA gives you what seems like a guilty smile as he stands in front of you, opening his arms and gesturing you to come closer. but the stoic expression on your face takes him back to the reality that the last thing you wanted to do today was to actually fetch him from the airport. it just so happens that his three best friends were caught up with work that they had no choice but to send you, the main ex-bestfriend slash ex-girlfriend, to him.

why did you agree when you practically loathe him with your whole being? well, it was probably because you weren't the devil who would reject your friends when they were literally on their knees as they begged you and for some reason, you thought he'll look pitiful going back to his home country after five years with no one to welcome him. yeah, that's it. it's not like you're still in love with him or anything.

"my car's just around the corner," you begrudgingly walk towards the car park with him quietly following. at the moment, he knew better than to get on your nerves or else there would be war. he hates that this happened to the both of you but he can't blame anyone else but himself. because who wouldn't hate their ex-boyfriend if they suddenly broke up with them over a phone call?

tension filled the car as you both sat beside each other. perhaps, this was what other people were talking about when they say that it's impossible for exes to be friends again, to not feel any awkwardness because you were sure as hell that the word "awkward" was an understatement of your situation right now. nevertheless, your eyes couldn't help but wander to his figure as he adjusted his body, opting for a more comfortable position in the passenger's seat.

he looked more youthful and you felt bittersweet— proud that his whole aura screams of "success" which meant that gone were the days where he longed to get that winter cup trophy, nor the times when he overworked himself and put a strain on his knee which led to countless arguments with you. if anything, he looked happier and it sucks because you're not even close to feeling that way... not without him.

"i heard you've finally gotten yourself your own condominium? that's great, yn!" he exclaimed as soon as you began driving to your destination, a hope lit within him that maybe you might just respond to him. just one smile, that's all i need, he thinks.

but you remain focused on your driving, choosing to reply with a single nod and a soft "yeah..."

disappointment fills his heart as he faces the truth that your relationship has really been ruined, along with your friendship. all because he was foolish to think that he couldn't handle the physical distance between you two. realization dawns upon him that he just made that same distance worse as you pull your heart further away from him.

"... i actually bought it for the two of us, you know?" he whips his head to your direction in surprise, heart clenching as he watch you let out a sad chuckle, "i just... i thought it would be nice if we had a place to permanently stay at and for you to have a home to go to when you're at japan. but yeah... i guess things doesn't go our way sometimes, does it?"

"i'm sor—"

"it's okay. i'm fine now," you quickly reply, shaking your head but keeping your eyes on the road. he tries to ignore the tears that start to form in them because he has no right to stop them, knowing full well that he was the one who caused them in the first place.

as if on cue, you halt your vehicle in front of a familiar apartment and much to your dismay, you find yourself looking back in the past when you used to live in that same place, making wonderful memories with the chocolate haired lad with you. you clear your throat to stop the sob that desperately attempts to escape your throat, "uhm... we're here."

"oh, yeah. we're here," he numbly states, already missing you despite the mere inches of space separating the two of you. you just felt so far away and he hates it. but this was the path he chose so he gets out of your car along with his things, turning to you once more, "uhh... thanks for the ride, yn. i know you probably hate me but yeah... it's very nice of you to put that past us and i guess i just want to say sorry for hurting you... i just..."

"i don't hate you, tooru," you softly tell him, "i just don't want anything to do with you anymore. to see you this happy, without me, is like a slap in the face because i'm not. it still hurts and i'm not fine. i just hope this will be the last time we'll see each other. be safe on your trip back to argentina. welcome home."

and with that, you start the car's engine again, no longer having the energy nor the strength to hear his reply. but he wishes you did because as he watches your car drive further away from him, he can't help but wish that he can take back time so that you don't have to go to that condominium and instead, go inside the home you once shared with him.

but i'm not happy, yn. because how could i call this place my home when you're not here with me?

at that moment, unbeknownst to the two hearts that long for each other break at the same time, you finally let out the tears and cries that you've been keeping since you saw him, knowing that no matter how much you try, you'll never be as happy as you were with him— simply because he left you with a hole in your heart that no one else can fill.

© SKIYOOSMI, 2021. reposting, translating, editing, copying and any kind of plagiarism are strictly prohibited, thank you.

[extasiswings]

15 + buddie

15. "Shouldn't you be with her?" On ao3 here.

When Eddie is eleven, his class gets a new student. Her name is Maria Esparza and her family is from Arizona. She has dark curls that look like they would be soft to touch and a smattering of freckles across her nose and she’s so smart—always reading and forever raising her hand in class, always with the right answers—but she never acts stuck up about it.

He thinks she’s beautiful and when he gets home from the first day of school he promptly announces that he’s in love. He doesn’t understand why his mother laughs or why Sophia rolls her eyes and calls him an idiot when he’s perfectly serious.

He’s in love, he insists, and goes on believing it for three whole weeks until he gets up the courage to give Maria a flower at recess and she looks at him like he has two heads. The rejection smarts for a couple of days, but then he’s fine. So, he figures...maybe it wasn’t love after all.

Eddie is fifteen when he finds his eyes slipping too frequently to Diego Reed in autoshop, lingering on the other boy’s long, dexterous fingers, his forearms, the sharp edge of his jaw. Eddie can’t explain it, he just knows those stolen glances make him squirm, make him flush, make him feel too warm and like his very skin is too tight.

Diego steals Eddie’s first kiss two weeks before winter break, pushes him up against the back wall of the shop where they’re hidden by a truck and licks into his mouth with a confidence that Eddie can’t imagine ever having when he himself can’t even figure out what to do with his hands. But it makes his knees weak and leaves him breathless and panting when Diego pulls away with a smirk and tells him not to say anything.

It’s not love—for one thing, Eddie knows he’s not supposed to love boys, and for another, the only time he suggests it might be anything at all, Diego gives him the same look Maria had once upon a time and walks away—but it’s nothing he’s ever felt before. The next year, Angelica Phelan asks him to go to the winter formal and he gets to second base in the science lab when they slip away from the chaperones. It’s different from kissing Diego. But it’s just as good, he enjoys it just as much, and part of him is…relieved.

He doesn’t think about that too much.

Eddie is eighteen when he’s not watching where he’s going and runs directly into his future on the sidewalk. Thankfully, the only casualty is Shannon’s coffee, and after she snaps at him for not paying attention and he offers to replace her drink—well. They close down the coffee shop, emerging, startled, from conversation only when interrupted by a mildly disgruntled employee trying to lock up. Eddie walks home in a daze, Shannon’s phone number burning a hole in his pocket, and he’s simultaneously elated and terrified because it’s never been so easy being with someone, he’s never felt so seen so quickly. He’s old enough to realize that love at first sight is bullshit, but he thinks he could fall very fast.

He’s right.

They take things slow because Eddie wants to do things right, doesn’t want to risk confusing love with the heady cocktail of teenage hormones and sex. So he knows by the time he does fall into bed with her, eight months in, that he’s in love. Really in love, thinking about the future in love, factoring her into the mix when he thinks about what the hell he’s going to do with his life in love.

And then Shannon gets pregnant. And it’s too soon, he loves her but it’s too soon, and he’s terrified all over again—

He loves her though. He loves her. And she’s pregnant so—they get married. He wants to do the right thing.

At their wedding the readings are selections from Song of Songs and Corinthians.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud....Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things...

With all due respect to St. Paul, Eddie doesn’t think he knew what the hell he was talking about. Or at least, maybe he did, but he was being pretty damn aspirational and left out a few things.

Because after the wedding…after the wedding, Eddie learns a lot more about love.

Love is beautiful, yes. But love is also…trying to do the right thing and fucking up. Love is fighting and knowing exactly what to say to cut the deepest and not always holding back. Love is forgiving, but after a point finding it difficult to forget.

Or maybe that’s not love, maybe that’s just marriage. Maybe it’s a little of both. Because love endures—sure. Love endured with Shannon even when trust was nonexistent, when their marriage was fractured, shattered pieces strewn across the floor ready to draw blood if either of them tried to pick them up.

Love isn’t enough. That’s what Eddie knows. Or maybe it is, maybe love would have been enough to fix what was broken if it hadn’t been his. Shannon’s gone, so they’ll never be able to have that conversation. He’ll never know the answer.

Love endures. Eddie kind of wishes it didn’t. It would make a lot of things a lot easier.

But…it’s fine. He’s fine. Shannon dies and he locks that piece of himself away and has no plans to ever fall in love again.

Then again, God has a funny sense of humor and never seems to resist an opportunity to be an asshole, so of course…he does. Slowly. Quietly. The threads slipping through the cracks in his walls so carefully that he doesn’t even notice until they’re twined around his heart, unspooling through his blood, through his veins with every pulse. Eddie doesn’t notice.

And then he gets shot and it’s like being hit by lightning, an electric shock of clarity down his spine, rooting him in place as he meets Buck’s eyes.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

***

Eddie despises recovery.

He’s never been good at being still, at being useless, at being left alone with nothing but his own head. And maybe he’s not entirely alone—he has Christopher, after all, and Christopher is understandably a little clingy now that he’s home from the hospital—but Christopher sleeps and has play dates and spends time in his room and just in general isn’t in Eddie’s space every second of every day.

And then there’s Buck. Buck who offered to keep staying on the couch to take care of everything they needed when Eddie came home from the hospital. Buck who Eddie sent home to his own bed with promises to call if he needed help because having Buck so close after Eddie’s little realization was stirring him up, making everything a million times more difficult in his head. Buck’s still over frequently, but it’s less dangerous if he’s not staying overnight, if Eddie can’t wake up and be tempted to walk out to the living room and pull Buck into his bed. Not for anything sexual—he’s on too many medications and too immobilized for that even if it was remotely a good idea—but to be held. To feel wanted. To feel safe.

He knows Buck probably wouldn’t say no, wouldn’t think anything of it except that maybe he’s a little raw and fragile, which he is. Which is exactly why he can’t ask. So. Removing the temptation it is.

But. Being left alone with his own head is a terrible idea. He’s in pain because he lowered the doses of his pain meds so he would stop worrying about developing any dependency. He can’t sleep without waking up with screams trapped behind his teeth and the smell of blood and gunpowder in his nose. And he can’t stop thinking about Buck. About being in love with Buck. About wanting Buck. About whether he could ever have him or whether he’ll ever be okay enough to be in a relationship. About whether Buck could ever want him back or if he’ll ever feel safe enough to risk their friendship by even asking.

He broke up with Ana the second he was able to figure out how to do it without feeling like a complete dick. But he hasn’t told Buck that. He doesn’t know why.

And then there’s—

The key turns in the lock and Eddie starts, looking up from his place on the couch. Christopher is with his abuela for the night, and he didn’t expect—

“Hey,” Buck calls, stepping through the door. “I brought dinner.”

Eddie stares.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, before he can stop himself. “Shouldn’t you be with Taylor?”

—Taylor. Buck and Taylor. Which, Buck waited weeks to tell him about, hedging about why he wanted to know if it was okay to invite her to Eddie’s welcome home party. Which, Buck only did admit to when Eddie called one night at 2AM and Taylor answered Buck’s phone.

Eddie clears his throat, the question sounding a little too sharp and accusatory to his ears.

“I just meant,” he adds, softening, “I thought you said you had a date tonight.”

An odd look passes over Buck’s face.

“Isabel called me,” he replies. “She said you were by yourself, asked if I would check on you. We rescheduled, it’s fine.”

Eddie nods once and pulls the couch throw tighter around his shoulders with his good arm. A petty, possessive piece of him is pleased. That Buck’s there. That Buck would drop everything for him.

He’s always been wary of Taylor. Even way back when they first met and she was prowling around the station filming everyone and flirting with Buck. But now? Now he’s jealous, his stomach twisting at the very reminder that she has Buck the way Eddie wants him.

But at the same time…he hates that. Hates the jealousy, hates feeling possessive. Because what claim does he have over Buck’s affections? None. Especially not when he can’t even admit to loving him outside his head.

He hates it because he knows that more than anything, Buck deserves to be happy. And maybe Eddie could make him happy, but—

Even if Buck felt the same—and Eddie isn’t convinced of that, doesn’t have the arrogance to assume—what right does he have to say please, to say wait, to ask Buck to put his life on hold indefinitely while Eddie sorts through the tangled mess in his head in the hope that one day he’ll finally be ready? He can’t be that selfish. Especially not with Buck.

Buck deserves to be happy. Even if that’s with Taylor Kelly. Even if it means Eddie loses him.

He doesn’t get to be jealous.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Eddie replies quietly. “I’m fine.”

Buck sets the bag in his arms down on the coffee table.

“You don’t look fine,” he points out. “Actually, you look like shit. Isabel was right to call me.”

“I’m fine,” Eddie repeats. His heart pangs at the concern in Buck’s eyes. “Really, it’s okay—you should—you should—”

Go. Call Taylor back. Enjoy your date.

He wants to do the right thing. He really does. But the rest of the words refuse to leave his throat.

Buck shakes his head anyway. “I’m not going anywhere,” he insists. “So tell me what’s going on. How can I help?”

Eddie bites his lip. Drags his hand over his jaw before making a face. The messy, overgrown scruff is itchy and difficult to manage on his own, and the foreignness of it doesn’t help him feel grounded in his own body when he wakes up gasping in the middle of the night.

“It’s stupid,” he says.

“I’m sure it’s not,” Buck replies. “And I’m here, so you might as well just talk.”

I’m in love with you, Eddie thinks. And I can’t sleep. And I can’t shave. And everything hurts. And I just want to stop being afraid—

He swallows. He can’t say all of that. He can’t blow everything up that way.

So, he picks the easiest one.

“I can’t shave with my left hand and it’s driving me insane.”

Buck blinks. Then he laughs as the worry in his brow smooths out.

“That’s it?” He asks. “Well, that’s easy. I can do that. Come on.”

And that’s how Eddie winds up sitting on the bathroom counter with shaving cream all over his face while Buck wets a razor and steps between his legs.

His breath catches.

“You good?” Buck asks, his voice low. His eyes are soft and focused, and Eddie almost regrets everything because the proximity—god, the proximity. He’s been so cold since the shooting and Buck is so warm, heat spreading through Eddie’s body from every discrete point of contact. Buck tips his chin back and Eddie lets his eyes slip closed.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I’m good.”

The razor drags along his skin. Neither of them say a word, the main sound in the room the drip of the faucet when Buck rinses the razor between passes. They’ve always been physical with each other, but this sort of thing is new. Intimate.

Eddie aches.

His eyes open a crack to watch. Buck’s lower lip is caught between his teeth, and having every ounce of that focus on him is…intoxicating.

I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Buck steps in closer, Eddie’s legs spread ever so slightly wider. A spark of heat flashes through him and he inhales sharply—Buck’s startled enough that his hand slips and the razor nicks Eddie’s jaw.

“Shit,” Buck swears. The razor clatters into the sink. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

Eddie opens his eyes the rest of the way. “It’s fine,” he assures. “What, you think I’ve never cut myself shaving before? It’s still better than I would have managed myself.”

“I’m—” Buck looks stricken, his fingers reaching out to gently cradle Eddie’s jaw only for him to snatch them back almost instantly, the tip of one faintly smeared with blood. His hand trembles.

“Buck,” Eddie says quietly. Buck’s eyes are fixed on the red smear and Eddie is sent back—

Watching his blood splash across Buck’s face and not realizing at first that it was his. Being half-delirious on the way to the hospital worrying that Buck had been hurt—

All this time, Buck’s been moving forward, pushing ahead, for Christopher, for him, for everyone, and Eddie knew he wasn’t entirely okay, knew he was fucked up from the moment in the hospital when he said I think it would have been better if I was the one who got shot, but since Eddie’s been home, Buck has seemed…better.

Maybe not. Maybe he’s been struggling to pretend as much as Eddie has.

Eddie twists around to grab the towel draped over the faucet and wets it enough to wash the rest of the shaving cream off his face, feels the sting of soap and water in the cut. And then he reaches out to grab Buck’s hand, wiping the blood off of his finger.

There’s something profane about blood staining skin. And something sacred in the act of washing it clean.

Eddie wonders if anyone helped Buck wash his blood off when he was in surgery. Taylor, maybe.

But no, that doesn’t feel right.

Buck probably did it himself. Alone.

“Hey.” Eddie squeezes Buck’s fingers. When Buck doesn’t look at him, he reaches out and curls his hand around the side of Buck’s neck, tips Buck’s chin up with his thumb to force him to meet his eyes. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m okay. No harm done.”

Buck breathes out shakily. His throat works, his face passes through a million stages—finally, his hands fall to the counter on either side of Eddie’s hips and his forehead drops to Eddie’s good shoulder. Eddie lets his hand slip around to the back of Buck’s neck, his fingers combing up through the short hairs there. He turns his head and he’s close enough to kiss the side of Buck’s, but he holds off. It feels like it would be too much. Too much when Buck doesn’t know how he really feels, what he really wants. But even just this—the closeness, the touch—is good. Needed. A balm to the itch under his skin.

When Buck turns his face into Eddie’s neck and inhales, Eddie thinks maybe Buck might need this just as badly.

“I’m okay,” he repeats, closing his eyes again as his fingers comb through Buck’s hair. “We’re okay. We’re okay.”

They stay like that for a long time. Buck’s phone rings out once, but neither of them moves to answer it. Eventually, Buck lifts his head and clears his throat roughly as he steps back.

Eddie’s hand falls away from Buck’s neck. He feels the absence keenly.

“You good?” He asks. Buck nods. His eyes are red.

“Yeah,” Buck replies. He pauses. Shakes his head. “No. But—can we just—can I just finish this for now? I want to finish this.”

Eddie watches him for a moment. Wets his lips. Then finally nods and passes over the shaving cream again.

“Sure,” he says. “I trust you.”

I love you.

Maybe…maybe eventually he’ll be braver. Maybe eventually, both of them will be free at the same time and he’ll be whole and healed, or at least something closer to it than he is now. Maybe eventually…love will be enough. Maybe.

For now, he has this.

[duckprintspress]

Ten Things We Hate About Trad Pub

Often when I say “I’ve started a small press; we publish the works of those who have trouble breaking into traditional publishing!” what people seem to hear is “me and a bunch of sad saps couldn’t sell our books in the Real World so we’ve made our own place with lower standards.” For those with minimal understanding of traditional publishing (trad pub), this reaction is perhaps understandable? But, truly, there are many things to hate about traditional publishing (and, don’t get me wrong - there are things to love about trad pub, too, but that’s not what this list is about) and it’s entirely reasonable for even highly accomplished authors to have no interest in running the gauntlet of genre restrictions, editorial control, hazing, long waits, and more, that make trad pub at best, um, challenging, and at worst, utterly inaccessible to many authors - even excellent ones.

Written in collaboration with @jhoomwrites, with input from @ramblingandpie, here is a list of ten things that we at Duck Prints Press detest about trad pub, why we hate it, and why/how we think things should be different!

(Needless to say, part of why we created Duck Prints Press was to...not do any of these things... so if you’re a writer looking for a publishing home, and you hate these things, too, and want to write with a Press that doesn’t do them...maybe come say hi?)

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1. Work lengths dictated by genre and/or author experience.

Romance novels can’t be longer than 90,000 words or they won’t sell! New authors shouldn’t try to market a novel longer than 100,000 words!

A good story is a good story is a good story. Longer genre works give authors the chance to explore their themes and develop their plots. How often an author has been published shouldn’t put a cap on the length of their work.

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2. Editors assert control of story events...except when they don’t.

If you don’t change this plot point, the book won’t market well. Oh, you’re a ten-time bestseller? Write whatever you want, even if it doesn’t make sense we know people will buy it.

Sometimes, a beta or an editor will point out that an aspect of a story doesn’t work - because it’s nonsensical, illogical, Deus ex Machina, etc. - and in those cases it’s of course reasonable for an editor to say, “This doesn’t work and we recommend changing it, for these reasons…” However, when that list of reasons begins and ends with, “...because it won’t sell…” that’s a problem, especially because this is so often applied as a double standard. We’ve all read bestsellers with major plot issues, but those authors get a “bye” because editors don’t want to exert to heavy a hand and risk a proven seller, but with a new, less experienced, or worse-selling author, the gloves come off (even though evidence suggests time and again that publishers’ ability to predict what will sell well is at best low and at worst nonexistent.)

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3. A billion rejection letters as a required rite of passage (especially when the letters aren't helpful in pinpointing why a work has been rejected or how the author can improve).

Well, my first book was rejected by a hundred Presses before it was accepted! How many rejection letters did you get before you got a bite? What, only one or two? Oh…

How often one succeeds or fails to get published shouldn’t be treated as a form of hazing, and we all know that how often someone gets rejected or accepted has essentially no bearing on how good a writer they are. Plenty of schlock goes out into the world after being accepted on the first or second try...and so does plenty of good stuff! Likewise, plenty of schlock will get rejected 100 times but due to persistence, luck, circumstances, whatever, finally find a home, and plenty of good stuff will also get rejected 100 times before being publishing. Rejections (or lack there of) as a point of pride or as a means of judging others needs to die as a rite of passage among authors.

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4. Query letters, for so many reasons.

Summarize all your hard work in a single page! Tell us who you’re like as an author and what books your story is like, so we can gauge how well it’ll sell based on two sentences about it! Format it exactly the way we say or we won’t even consider you!

For publishers, agents, and editors who have slush piles as tall as Mount Everest...we get it. There has to be a way to differentiate. We don’t blame you. Every creative writing class, NaNoWriMo pep talk, and college lit department combine to send out hundreds of thousands of people who think all they need to do to become the next Ernest Hemingway is string a sentence together. There has to be some way to sort through that pile...but God, can’t there be a better way than query letters? Especially since even with query letters being used it often takes months or years to hear back, and...

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5. "Simultaneous submissions prohibited.”

No, we don’t know when we’ll get to your query, but we’ll throw it out instantly if you have the audacity to shop around while you wait for us.

The combination of “no simultaneous submissions” with the query letter bottleneck makes success slow and arduous. It disadvantages everyone who aims to write full-time but doesn’t have another income source (their own, or a parents’, or a spouse’s, or, or or). The result is that entire classes of people are edged out of publishing solely because the process, especially for writers early in their career, moves so glacially that people have to earn a living while they wait, and it’s so hard to, for example, work two jobs and raise a family and also somehow find the time to write. Especially considering that the standard advice for dealing with “no simultaneous submissions” is “just write something else while you wait!” ...the whole system screams privilege.

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6. Genres are boxes that must be fit into and adhered to.

Your protagonist is 18? Then obviously your book is Young Adult. It doesn’t matter how smutty your book is, erotica books must have sex within the first three chapters, ideally in the first chapter. Sorry, we’re a fantasy publisher, if you have a technological element you don’t belong here…

While some genre boxes have been becoming more like mesh cages of late, with some flow of content allowed in and out, many remain stiff prisons that constrict the kinds of stories people can tell. Even basic cross-genre works often struggle to find a place, and there’s no reason for it beyond “if we can’t pigeon-hole a story, it’s harder to sell.” This edges out many innovative, creative works. It also disadvantages people who aren’t as familiar with genre rules. And don’t get me wrong - this isn’t an argument that, for example, the romance genre would be improved by opening up to stories that don’t have “happily ever afters.” Instead, it’s pointing out - there should also be a home for, say, a space opera with a side romance, an erotica scene, and a happily-for-now ending. Occasionally, works breakthrough, but for the most part stories that don’t conform never see the light of day (or, they do, but only after Point 2 - trad pub editors insist that the elements most “outside” the box be removed or revised).

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7. The lines between romance and erotica are arbitrary, random, and hetero- and cis-normative.

This modern romance novel won’t sell if it doesn’t have an explicit sex scene, but God forbid you call a penis a penis. Oh, no, this is far too explicit, even though the book only has one mlm sex scene, this is erotica.

The difference between “romance” and “erotica” might not matter so much if not for the stigmas attached to erotica and the huge difference in marketability and audience. The difference between “romance” and “erotica” also might not matter so much if not for the fact that, so often, even incredibly raunchy stories that feature cis straight male/cis straight female sex scenes are shelved as romance, but the moment the sex is between people of the same gender, and/or a trans or genderqueer person is involved, and/or the relationship is polyamorous, and/or the characters involved are literally anything other than a cis straight male pleasuring a cis straight female in a “standard” way (cunnilingus welcome, pegging need not apply)...then the story is erotica. Two identical stories will get assigned different genres based on who the people having sex are, and also based on the “skill” of the author to use ludicrous euphemisms (instead of just...calling body parts what they’re called…), and it’s insane. Non-con can be a “romance” novel, even if it’s graphically described. “50 Shades of Gray” can sell millions of copies, even containing BDSM. But the word “vagina” gets used once...bam, erotica. (Seriously, the only standard that should matter is the Envelope Analogy).

-

8. Authors are expected to do a lot of their own legwork (eg advertising) but then don't reap the benefits.

Okay, so, you’re going to get an advance of $2,500 on this, your first novel, and a royalty rate of 5% if and only if your advance sells out...so you’d better get out there and market! Wait, what do you mean you don’t have a following? Guess you’re never selling out your advance…

Trad pub can generally be relied on to do some marketing - so this item is perhaps better seen as an indictment of more mid-sized Presses - but, basically, if an author has to do the majority of the work themselves, then why aren’t they getting paid more? What’s the actual benefit to going the large press/trad pub route if it’s not going to get the book into more hands? It’s especially strange that this continues to be a major issue when self-publishing (which also requires doing one’s own marketing) garners 60%+ royalty rates. Yes, the author doesn’t get an advance, and they don’t get the cache of ~well I was published by…~, but considering some Presses require parts of advances to get paid back if the initial run doesn’t sell out, and cache doesn’t put food on the table...pay models have really, really got to change.

-

9. Fanfiction writing doesn't count as writing experience

Hey there Basic White Dude, we see you’ve graduated summa cum laude from A Big Fancy Expensive School. Of course we’ll set you up to publish your first novel you haven’t actually quite finished writing yet. Oh, Fanperson, you’ve written 15 novels for your favorite fandom in the last 4 years? Get to the back of the line!

Do I really need to explain this? The only way to get better at writing is to write. Placing fanfiction on official trad pub “do not interact” lists is idiotic, especially considering many of the other items on this list. (They know how to engage readers! They have existing followings! They understand genre and tropes!) Being a fanfiction writer should absolutely be a marketable “I am a writer” skill. Nuff said. (To be clear, I’m not saying publishers should publish fanfiction, I’m saying that being a fanfiction writer is relevant and important experience that should be given weight when considering an author’s qualifications, similar to, say, publishing in a university’s quarterly.)

-

10. Tagging conventions (read: lack thereof).

Oh, did I trigger you? Hahahaha. Good luck with that.

We rate movies so that people can avoid content they don’t like. Same with TV shows and video games. Increasingly, those ratings aren’t just “R - adult audiences,” either; they contain information about the nature of the story elements that have led to the rating (“blood and gore,” “alcohol reference,” “cartoon violence,” “drug reference,” “sexual violence,” “use of tobacco,” and many, many more). So why is it that I can read a book and, without warning, be surprised by incest, rape, graphic violence, explicit language, glorification of drug and alcohol use, and so so much more? That it’s left to readers to look up spoilers to ensure that they’re not exposed to content that could be upsetting or inappropriate for their children or, or, or, is insane. So often, too, authors cling to “but we don’t want to give away our story,” as if video game makes and other media makers do want to give away their stories. This shouldn’t be about author egos or ~originality~ (as if that’s even a thing)...it should be about helping readers make informed purchasing decisions. It’s way, way past time that major market books include content warnings.

Thank you for joining us, this has been our extended rant about how frustrated we are with traditional publishing. Helpful? No. Cathartic? Most definitely yes. 🤣

*

Have a question about writing? Drop us an ask!

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[yandere-sins]

omg i’m such a dumbass i can’t believe i missed your prompts😭 if it’s not too late can we get some window with suna? he’s just so perfect for it. hope you’re doing well!💓

Awa, you didn’t miss them at all! Thanks for requesting, I hope you’re doing well too ♥ I decided to make a continuation of the Kitsune!AU I did with Suna before here so I could work on his character more.

Window - “…How fucking dense are you?” 

»»———————— ♡ ————————««     

You started buying groceries for two.

It was utterly idiotic that you tolerated that... person’s demands. Especially when you could barely afford to feed another person. More than once, you found yourself holding your phone, dialing the police. But when you looked up, seeing him merely laying on your couch watching TV, you completely forgot what you wanted to say. He didn’t look menacing. He didn’t even try to scare you like a robber would. And how would you even start to explain the fox ears and tail to anyone?

A hunter might have been a better option. But were they and their guns effective against mythical creatures as well? You tried to research it, google for every information you could find, but aside from stories and myths, there were no hints on the internet that this man should actually exist. If you believed the old tellings, they weren’t as uncommon to see back then, but their population seemed to have decreased with the humans taking over most parts of the world.

Thinking logically, that was still no reason for you specifically to endure him. Especially if it were the humans having the upper hand, he should be afraid of you, rather than the other way around! So what if you were nice enough to feed him?

You still couldn’t understand why he was sticking around you.

His ears folding back, Suna finally turned to you, glaring at you in annoyance. “Why are you staring?” he asked, and you flinched, noticing how you had peeked around the corner for too long. It was hard to avoid him, considering he took up a lot of your living space, but you were still reluctant to interact with him. “Just come over here if you want to watch the show.”

Truth be told, he never looked as if he was enjoying what he was watching, but you had seen him put on the same kind of program again and again over time, so surely, he must have taken a liking to it either way. “Is that... your favorite show?” you asked timidly, approaching the couch with a reasonable distance. Even if he was annoyed from your staring, he did invite you over, and it was as good of a time to ask him to leave as any.

“It’s alright,” he replied, and his tail gave a slow wag, making you think he did like it. “Cool, cool...” you mumbled, shooting the TV a short glance, the flashing of bright colors and the loud voices of the moderation appalling you. Suna’s attention returned to you, his eyes giving you a slow, appraising look up and down before he patted the free space next to him on the couch. “Sit,” he kept inviting you as if your presence standing next to the amenity was dissatisfactory for him.

Making this step was harder for you than you thought at first. Hesitantly, you slid on the cushion furthest away from Suna, pressing up to the armrest on your side while he was leaning on the other one, watching you from the corners of his eyes.

Why you even followed his instructions was puzzling, but you hoped he’d take what you were about to say better when you made him comfortable. Clearing your throat, you announced, “So, when do you plan on leaving...?” avoiding to look at him even after you finished speaking.

“Leave what?” A yawn escaped him before his attention shifted back to the program on TV. “My home... this house. Here?” was your lousy explanation, and fiddling with your fingers, you noticed that you were growing nervous with every silent second between you two.

“I don’t know--”

“I’m not going to feed you anymore.”

These words left you the second you heard his dismissive tone of voice and without much consideration. Simply, you were too scared to listen to his rejection. You wanted him out and rather yesterday than tomorrow at that. “I... I can’t keep feeding you. It’s too expensive; I’ll run out of money,” you tried to explain, hoping this was enough to persuade you.

“Huh...” he grumbled, his fingers tapping against the leather on the couch. “I don’t want to leave,” he eventually mustered to say, taking a deep breath before sitting up straight. “But you can’t stay...” you disappointingly replied.

“Can’t I?”

“No,” you said firmly, standing your ground.

Inching closer to you, his presence was suddenly unnerving. You wondered what the point was in closing in the distance, not sure what he would do. “I can’t feed you anymore a-and, uh, you are over... over-staying your welcome!”

It sure didn’t help that he was leaning towards you, slender features and pure skin soon covering all you could see. Black hair as you looked towards the ceiling, an unpredictable expression when your gaze graced his face.

“... How fucking dense are you?” he asked you suddenly, using harsher words than you had ever heard him do before.

Next thing you knew, he had your hands restraint, pushing your upper body back to bend over the armrest. The burning you felt of the strain in your back was your smallest concern at that moment; instead, you immediately focus on thin lips brushing down your neck and to your collarbones. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying.”

“B-But I-” you stuttered, trying to convince him and find a peaceful solution. Twisting and turning your wrists only revealed Suna’s strength, something he hadn’t used on you before, so you never had a chance to find out about it until now. “You won’t get rid of me just because you don’t feed me, you know.”

“What?” you squeaked, so sure of yourself that all your research had shown that animals who lost a source of food would move on. You had bet your entire confidence on this fact. “I don’t even need food,” he explained, seemingly reading your mind.

“Then why... Why did you stay?”

What followed was a long pause. So much so, you noticed your back pain again, twisting your torso to appease it and also moved your head around to free yourself of hair blocking your view. There was a vase on the coffee table. If only you could reach it, you’d have a chance of breaking free. But being able to see again, you noticed something moving rather excitedly behind Suna’s body, his tail wagging putting every dog to shame.

No second later, you felt the sharp pain of fangs in the soft flesh between your neck and shoulder, and you flinched hard at it, only worsen the feeling. “Ah-!” you wanted to cry out, but the sound got stuck in your throat as he loosened his jaw, moving slightly more to the right to bite down again.

This time, you felt the tears shoot into your eyes, shock, pain, and fear covering your senses. “Who knows~” he chuckled, seemingly amused about your reaction. Pulling away from you, you could see the bloodstains around his mouth, almost making you faint as you could ultimately realize that he did, in fact, bit you twice just now.

“Maybe I stayed for you? I couldn’t wait to get a bite for sure. Want me to eat you up?”

He leaned down again, and this time, as weak as you felt, you could see your life flashing before your eyes, especially when you felt his tongue drag over the wounds he had just induced. In what must have been a survival instinct, you managed to shove your hands into his shoulders, his grip having weakened as he didn’t expect you to resist. The next moment you were free, falling off the couch and to your feet, gone in the blink of an eye. You only stopped when the door to your bedroom closed behind you, and you locked it, sinking to the ground.

You had nothing on you; no phone or cell, nothing to make yourself known to the outside world. If you climbed out the window or exit through the door, you were almost sure you were a feast for the fox. There was barely anything you could do to calm your racing heart or stop hyperventilating as your mind desperately thought of alternatives. If this was just one of his jokes, you were taking it way too seriously, but how could you know?

How could you know what was true and false about the grinning fox spirit standing in front of your bedroom door, licking his lips in delight?

[dumpsterhipster]

The Trash Dweller's Dumpster Dives: 5

Welcome back to another episode of everyone's* (*my) favourite** (**only) TES fic rec series. Today: Skyrim's most put-upon and unlucky general takes the stage.

[1] [2] [3] [4] [6]

It Ends With Wolves - by Glaukobiblion / @glaukobiblion

fandom || Skyrim rating || G categories || f/m, gen genre || adventure, comedy characters of note || Tullius, Elisif the Fair, Legate Rikke status || 9/9, 13k

What do you do after you've saved the world?

“My lady,” he said, a touch ironically. Half a year in this place and he still hadn’t figured out exactly how titles worked in Skyrim, but he thought she might be one of Elisif’s multitude of thanes whom he had scarcely met; the woman handed out titles like candy to whoever suited her earnest honor. “I’m afraid Legate Rikke has made her decision on this.” “Oh, by the— eight,” she said. “Do you seriously not recognize me?” The general studied her again. Perhaps he had known her parents in Cyrodiil, except he famously did not broke with nepotism, and anyway he needed to be alerted when he was expected to provide it, not trust in some perceived family resemblance. Dark hair, the flat amber-turning-green eyes that were so common in parts of Cyrodiil. He did not know this woman at all. “Should I?” he said. She made a sound like a cat being trod upon and slammed the door to Castle Dour closed behind her.

It Ends With Wolves is the first volume in the Draconata series, a set of short standalone works which stitch together into a larger narrative. While this rec says It Ends With Wolves on the tin, really it’s for the whole series—published so far are two shortish multichaps (It Ends With Wolves and Fox Among the Geese, a HEIST story), and an in-progress collection of one-shots called Nine Divines which showcases some of the fantastic female characters of Solitude, before we return to the story fics in volume 4.

I was hooked on this fic from the very first sentence. Glaukobiblion’s writing style is simply tremendous: snappy and smart, focused and tight, and just so incredibly funny. They have a very Pratchett-like wit and humour which had me regularly laughing out loud and live-quoting my first read to my hapless friends; it’s the sort of writing where by the end of the first chapter I was thinking ‘damn I really want to be friends with this person, they seem so smart and funny and cool’. (And now we are, and they ARE.)

In It Ends With Wolves we follow a beleaguered General Tullius, who after meeting and failing to recognise a rejected recruit for the Legion (oops) learns at their next meeting, at one of Elisif’s soirees, that she’s the Dragonborn (double oops). The two, much to Tullius’ displeasure, embark upon a horrifying delve madcap romp into the crypts of Solitude to investigate the disappearance of a temple acolyte and rumours of a resurrected Wolf Queen. Tullius’ day only gets worse from there.

I seriously can’t emphasise enough what a delight this fic is to read. The prose is tight and snappy, the plotting and pacing even more so, with an excellent use of negative space and subtext so that the work contains far more than you’d expect for its short wordcount. Tullius’ narrative voice is also just so fun. It’s dry and witty and incredibly Over It, and being in his head had me in fits of giggles constantly. His overall characterisation, too, is wonderful; he’s rich and complex and so real he could walk off the page. This applies to all of Glaukobiblion’s characters: every NPC their brush touches, no matter for how short a time, is transformed into a living, breathing, vibrant character simply oozing with personality. Elenwen in Fox Among the Geese bears particular mention, but my personal favourite is their Elisif. She’s smart and capable and again, just so much fun, and no spoilers but her role in the heist narrative is *chef’s kiss*.

Then we come to the Dragonborn herself. In many ways this whole series is an exploration of what it means to be the hero post-heroics; how you build and life and find yourself after you’ve been pretty much literally to hell and back. I always love a post-main quest Dragonborn, and this is one of the best and deepest explorations of the archetype I’ve seen. Particularly given we mostly see her through Tullius’ eyes, there’s a magnificent and gradual unveiling as the series progresses of the nameless, mysterious woman we meet at the start known only by her title and deeds. As I said, Glaukobiblion uses negative space wonderfully, and this series is a masterclass in how what you don’t show or tell can do just as much work as what you do. The way we only very slowly and very gradually strip away the layers of the Dragonborn, who she is now and what she’s been through and what that’s done to her, really drives home the utter bitter desolation of what it means to have lived through being the prophesied hero. She isn’t the typical late-teens-early-twenties fresh-faced heroine: she’s pushing forty, she’s been through a lot, and she’s tired. She wears massive scars, both emotional and physical, which neither us nor Tullius see for a long time because of the masks she wears. There are hints and allusions as we go through, but it’s when we finally have her first POV chapter—halfway through the second volume—that it all really lands, and lands hard. The contrast with the usually light and fun tone works particularly strongly in Glaukobiblion’s favour each time they push in hard on the more serious subject matter—again, in a manner very reminiscent of Terry Pratchett.Basically, what I’m saying is Draconata is a fun romp which will pull the rug out from under you and hit you with Feelings (and Themes) exactly when you’re least expecting it, and beat you up in the best possible ways. I adore it to the moon and back; it’s a perfect blend of fannish and original, funny and thoughtful, with never a word wasted or a dull moment. I can’t recommend it highly enough.

[whaleofatjme1920]

Take two of asking for some gay panic with the ladies, any ladies, all the ladies! Scenario preferably~

Afternoons in the Proxy Commons and Spirit Halloween

[Jane the Killer, Nina the Killer, Clockwork, Kate the Chaser X F!Reader]

[Warnings: none]

[AN: I really want to go to a Spirit Halloween, sigh]

It’s not often that you’re able to spend time in Slender manor. In fact, the place isn’t even really your domain to begin with. You come here every now and then to help with festivities the Slender Man deems necessary for “morale”. This upcoming festivity? Halloween.

Your pseudo boss, the Slender Man, told you to head to the store and get some decorations which was ludacris in itself. He’s an almighty, powerful being and he needs you to go to Spirit Halloween when he hosts a manor full of murderers from all over the country daily?

The answer is apparently yes.

“You may take the ladies with you,” The Slender Man waves off. “They are not doing anything this afternoon.”

You drop your shoulders, knowing that it’s useless to even consider going against his word. “And we’re going to pay for this with what?”

The Slender Man makes noise of amusement before one of his long tendrils opens up a drawer to his left, opening it and producing a - a credit card? He hums quietly and lowers it down to you, depositing the plastic into your hands.

“A debit card? Really?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Where did you even get this?”

“None of your concern.” The Slender Man’s tendril finds its way to your back before turning you towards his office door, pushing you towards it. “The ladies are in the proxy commons.”

You glance over your shoulder at him before nodding, a slight grin on your lips at his general annoyance of you before pushing the big doors open. You mentally begin to think over the way to the proxy commons, the mansion bending its hallways to your destination. The halls here always smell of jasmine.

When you reopen your eyes after zoning out for a moment or two, you realize that you’re standing in front of the arch of the proxy commons. It’s actually relatively empty save for a table full of ladies you’ve only ever met a handful of times. You take in a small breath, almost hyping yourself and your confidence up before stepping in. Soft rays of sunlight pass over your skin as you walk into the well lit room and listen to the gentle hum of passing conversation.

There, sitting at a round table are four of the most influential women in your society. Jane the Killer, beauty in black. Clockwork, timeless in every sense. Kate the Chaser, a subtle treasure. Nina the Killer, devotion like none other.

They’re smiling and laughing, enjoying the afternoon with each other when Nina finally pipes up and notices you. Her eyes widen for a moment before her lips curl up into a beaming smile. “Oh, you’re finally here!” She exclaimed, hopping out of her seat. “He told us to expect you.”

Nina’s hands are cold as she wraps her arms around you, but you welcome her touch all the same. “He did?”

Kate nods, a small hum coming from her throat as she sips at her tea. “Mhm. Already got a car waiting in Rosswood’s parking lot.”

“Ready to go when you are,” Natalie pipes in as she drinks the rest of her beverage.

“Might as well uh, leave now,” you say as you catch Jane’s warm smile, voice faltering for just a moment.

The ladies nod and begin to get up, Nina linking her arm with yours before she begins to drag you towards the mansion’s entrance.

-

-

-

“He couldn’t just use his infinite power and use his own halloween decorations?” Natalie says as she shoves her hands in her pockets, looking up at the reasonably crowded Spirit Halloween.

Kate shrugs and locks the car before plopping the keys into her hoodie’s pocket. “He likes to keep us on our toes, I guess,” she chuckles, nodding for the group to follow her.

Jane matches pace with you and Nina (who has refused to unlink arms with you the entire time she’s been in your presence), before resting her head on your shoulder. “I wanna check out the costumes,” she says, nuzzling into you.

You smile and nuzzle her back, softly melting into her touch as you do so. “Me too.”

“I want to see the decorations,” Nina beams. “I’m thinking we go full Halloween party this year, screw the upper class!” She exclaims, now dragging you and Jane at full speed.

The notion brings a laugh from Natalie as she opens the front door, letting everyone else inside before her. “Don’t get too carried away,” she says. “We’re here to Reader can to a job,” she grins.

“It’s not like we have to make it boring,” Nina pouts.

“I’d also love to see what costumes Reader looks best in,” Jane muses. “Maybe a little bunny?” She jokes, index finger tapping your nose and making you giggle as you scrunch your nose up in response.

“What about a kitty?” Kate suggests as she glances down one of the aisles. “I think that would be purr-fect for her.” Kate grins slightly and holds her hand out to you, watching as you unlink your arm from Nina’s to travel down to the lawn decorations.

You chuckle as Kate warmly holds you while glancing at all the lawn decorations. There’s clowns, slashers, things that you’d genuinely love to have on Slender Man’s front lawn! However, you know that he’d be put off by the “tackiness”.

You turn your head to the side and that’s when you see it - a giant, poorly made Slender Man that wiggles its arms and barely lunges at whoever is viewing it. “Oh my gods,” you say, suddenly letting go of Kate’s hand and stalking towards the ungodly thing like a moth to moonlight.

Kate raises a brow and looks over her shoulder to finally see what you’re looking at, and a laugh escapes her throat. “Oh my gods, guys, look-” she says as she begins to walk over and join you, hands in her pockets.

Natalie, who had been busy talking shit at the poor Pennywise animatronic, was suddenly pulled over by Jane to see the Slender Man reject. She grins and links arms with Jane and Nina, laughter escaping their lips as the thing lunges weakly at you. “He’s so ugly,” she snorts.

“He’s always ugly,” Nina giggles as she looks upwards at the tall prop.

“Yeah,” Natalie adds on, “how dare he exist in the same space as Reader, right?”

Laughter rings out from the group as their eyes slowly move over to you.

“Beauty and the Beast situation,” Kate continues as she slings her arm over your shoulders.

“She’s gotta kiss him to make him pretty?” Nina chuckles as she pokes the animatronic’s spindly arms. “Ooooo, maybe if Reader kissed me I’d become pretty?”

You make a sound of surprise and feel heat rush to your cheeks. “What? You’re already pretty!”

“Think I might need a kiss too,” Natalie hums.

“Same here,” Jane grins.

Kate hums and presses her lips to the crown of your head. “Me too.” You laugh and shake your head before reaching into your back pocket for the list of things you need. “Ladies, we’re here on a mission!” You exclaim in a slightly flustered tone.

“We know,” Jane hums, her fingers gently playing with your loose strands of hair. “But how often do we get to hang out with you?”

“Right,” Natalie nods. “Might as well have some fun with it,” she teases in a joking tone, her hand grabbing yours.

You watch with wide eyes as the clock eyed woman raises it to her lips, gently planting a kiss on the back of it. Heat erupts over your face once more. Your heart is thumping wildly in your chest.

Nina pouts. “No fair!” She stomps her boot onto the linoleum tile. “I was gonna do that to Reader!”

Kate laughs and sways you in her arms. “Reader does have another hand.”

You sigh playfully and relent, watching as the clad in purple woman bounds up to you.

Gonna be a busy shopping trip, huh?

[twsted-simp-writer]

Hello and welcome back! May I request hcs for dormleaders with a s/o who wears shades a lot till' they found out that everyone in their middle school wanted to gouge their beautiful eyes out beacuse some are jealous or wanting to sell it to the market? Thank u!

(Yes I am referencing the eys from Gojo from JJK)

I haven't really watched Jujutsu Kaisen (tho I watched sukuna and gojo scenes in YT) but I already know Gojo and Sukuna, seeing the thirst tweets on Twitter back then. I plan on watching it once it's totally finished. (But seriously Gojo’s eyes are so pretty) Thank you for the request and I hope you like this!~

Dorm Leader Headcanons

Riddle Rosehearts

He'll had to admit. The first time he met you, he almost chop off your head for wearing those shades all day. Even at night, much to his utter disbelief. Being the strict abide-to-the-rules person he was back then, he ordered you to take them off. Seeing those eyes had startled him for dear life.

This was the time he finds out everything you've been through because of those eyes. Constantly in danger for people in your school who might possibly attack you. The redhead was upset as you predicted. You further explained more about your eyes and how those shades affect your vision.

Riddle quietly observed you. How come you are so strong despite all the pain you have been through? The redhead held your hands and pecked your lips.

Even himself was flustered with his own actions, he wasn't really good at expressing his feelings for you but he'll try his best. Seeing how he was doing his own way of comforting someone, you giggled at the cuteness of your boyfriend.

"I'm not strong physically but with my magic, I'll make sure those who have ill intensions towards you will have their heads cut off."

Leona Kingscholar

This lion never spoke a word about it as he respects your space. Until you decided to open it up to him. That sunglasses didn't really bothered him the slightest except when he discovered you even wear it in the dark especially at night much to his chagrin.

Can you even see in that especially in the dark? He'll just huff at the idea that popped in his mind. It is definitely impossible for a human like you to see clearly in the dark.

When he thought you were just an odd herbivore, he was taken aback when you suddenly opened up your past and explained more about your eyes.  Both of you were lying down his bed cuddling, when he crawled atop of you stopping you from your story.

As he held your face, both staring into each others eyes for a moment. Leona's face was blank yet so many emotions are going through his eyes. Yet you recognize anger, worry and fear. Knowing many thoughts were running in his head, you lean your face close and your lips met with his and that calm his mind. Leona's body became relaxed as he bury his face to the side of your neck.

"I may not always be beside you, but just call my name. I'll be sure to be there."

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul merely shook his head at how violent land dwellers were. He have heard stories of how humans can be cruel ever since he was small. But to think you were a target just because of your eyes is what made him distraught. Your boyfriend silently hugged you from behind as he thought of the possibilities of you being targeted once more but here in Twisted-Wonderland.

He would suggest you to have a contract with him to hide the true appearance of your eyes. In exchange of it, you will have to spend your entire life with him. He offered this, his cheeks bright pink and shaky voice.

You let a little laugh at what your lover what implying. Pecking his lips, you held his hands and stare at his bluish-gray eyes.

"Darling, I would love the thought but that will not change the effect of how I see the world. I would also love to spend the rest of my life with you but marriage can wait."

Azul had a huge smile as he peppered your neck with kisses. If ever someone planned on laying a hand on you, your lover will certainly pay them a visit with the twins. In the end, he would suggest to you to atleast have Jade and Floyd near you at all times to which you rejected.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim would be that type of person who is very vocal of things. He would bug you about why you wore shades all the time. Upon catching a glimpse of your eyes, he was stunned. This soft boy loves complimenting your eyes despite not knowing the story behind those. Learning how others wanted to take your eyes just for their own benefit or out of jealousy, he'll shower you with lots of attention and affection.

Kalim is the type of person who'll empathize with someone who has experience things he himself didn't.  He'll even apologize even if it wasn't his fault.

This boy would even cry for you which made you comfort him and tell he shouldn't feel responsible.  There were times you thought he was too good that others may use this against him.

The next day,  a stressed out Jamil will approach you to question why Kalim suddenly wanted to buy lots of shades. Hearing this you immediately run to find your boyfriend to stop him.

"They say jewels and gold are have far more worth but for me, your worth is more that those things."

Vil Schoenheit

Vil thought those shades was just part of your fashion and it looked good on you. It may have startled him before, that you wore it the whole time until Rook pointed it out to him.

He loves putting different shades of eyeshadows that compliments your eyes. It didn't help that your boyfriend will stare heatedly at yours, making you feel shy.

After hearing what you've been though back in your world, he understood how it is to be envied by others for something they don't have nor feel threatened by someone. But to the point of wanting their eyes out of jealousy or to sell them?

The thought of his s/o being in danger back then all because of their eyes, he felt sick and disgusted. Who in the world would gouge out someone's eyes? (cougheyesonmecough). Vil would then press on to know if there are ever people following you lately. To which you reassured no one was.

Also being aware on how the sunglasses affects your vision, your lover made sure to tag you along to buy different kinds that will fit to your outfits. You just let yourself be dragged by your boyfriend seeing how fired up he was when it comes to fashion and makeup.

Idia Shroud

At the beginning, Idia was creeped out when you wore shades all the time. Be it during History class, Physical Education, even Alchemy (much to Crewel's dismay).  Upon discovering your eyes, he was fascinated by them.

When he find out how people back in your middle school wanted your eyes just to sell them for their own profit made this lovable boyfriend of yours speechless at human greed. He would literally made a special glasses just to hide your unique eyes.

A small part of him was guilty that he felt like he didn't deserve someone like you. But hearing your story, a surge of determination overcame him.

You tried to convince him that he doesn't need to build one for him, but he was already gone by the time Ortho told you.

Much to your surprise, the glasses let you see normally than you usually would whenever you don't have your shades.

Idia would explain to you the other functions it can do and the precautions. He even handed you the contacts just in case. Moved by the efforts of your usual gloomy boyfriend who is now , you happily kissed your boyfriend who suddenly turned into a blabbering mess at the sudden kiss.

"I may not be so reliable but I'll make sure to protect you from the shadows..."

Malleus Draconia

Your eyes is what made a lasting impression for Malleus. It was as if those eyes could swallow his whole being despite you being a human. Hearing this all from you, he wasn't surprise that your fellow humans would try to gouge out your eyes. Humans are fickle and easily swayed by their desires. Jealousy was an ugly thing.

Caressing your cheek, he kissed both of your eyelids as he spoke. "When I am here, no one will dare to hurt you. If they ever do, they will have to suffer my wrath."

Seeing your lover was emitting dark aura, you immediately hugged his waist and reassured that was in the past. Many thoughts ran through this fae as he wanted to ease your burden. When he offered that he might find a way to make your eyes normal, you rejected it.

He didn't have to go through so much length just to change your eyes. As much as it was hell for you but thanks to these eyes, you met many friends here in Twisted Wonderland.

Malleus merely shook his head. HIs s/o was too kind for their own good. As much as he didn’t agree with your decision, he’ll definitely be more protective for the next few days than you thought.

"Others may find you a thorn to my side, but to me you are my human, my heart, my soul and my weakness. My other half."

[sweetestlamb]

Walk Through A Storm

Author's note: Honestly, like I could help myself from doing this. it's short because I need to actually get my life together but enjoy. Oh also I don't wanna think anymore so someone give me title in the comments lol I'll pick the one that fits the best. (Thanks for actually giving suggestions, one really spoke to me!)

Summary: "I'm not ready to stop kissing you yet."

"I thought you were going to reject me." She whispers in between the small space between them, their lips are close enough to meet again in another soul burning kiss and he's tempted to close the gap again. They can talk later so for the second time in his life he wants to be selfish, she brings that out in him; makes him hungry for more than he thinks he deserves. She's been doing that since he first met her.

"I'm not ready to stop kissing you yet." Her eyes widen at his whispered words and without pause he leans closer softly pressing his lips against hers. She tastes sweet like the best candy he could never get as a young boy. Her little hands slide up his back dragging him closer and he goes easily, his walls are saw dust at this point and she's a windstorm. Wrapping his arms fully around her body he pulls her closer, cupping the back of her head as he swipes his tongue at the seam of her lips. She gasps in a way that makes his blood bubble and flow southward. The sea roars besides them providing the soundtrack to their first cognizant kisses. Hopefully the first of many.

The kiss drags and overlaps, her tongue persistent in his mouth and her hands busy stroking and rubbing at his back. It takes all of his willpower to sever their connection but he's starting to feel light-headed (and horny). This all still seems like a dream ever since he saw her running over to him, when she was supposed to be in Seoul. Leaving without telling him. Making him think the worst.

"Why do you look like you want to cry?" She cups his cheeks and he's reminded of that unforgettable night. She looks so concerned that he wants to disappear not used to being on the receiving end of such looks.

"Nothing. I'm fine." He tries to brush her off, viciously wiping at his eyes but she doesn't let him push her away, grabbing his hands tightly in her own. "Tell me what you're thinking. I told you everything in my head."

He almost chuckles at her expectant gaze. She sounds like him demanding payment.

"People usually leave but you're the first...to come back early." He smiles sadly thinking about all the people he'll never see again, and how he considered that she might go back to Seoul and realize that she was much too big for the pond that was Gongjin. He wouldn't have stopped her, she deserved the whole world.

"The first hm. I like that." He stares at her face, grinning at the satisfied grin and the enveloping dimples on both sides of her face.

"A daughter with your dimples would be dangerous, I think I'd understand how Chun-jae feels then." She pauses at his words mouth gaping and it hits him just what he's implied about their future. It's presumptuous and he should correct it but his tongue feels too heavy and her bright eyes suck the air from his lungs.

"Where's Mi-Seon? How did you get back so quickly?"

"Oh." She jumps cutely, suddenly hitting him on the shoulder and he winces ready to scold her for hitting him so close to his injury. But then she starts hitting herself on the head and instinctively he grabs her, stopping the self inflicted abuse.

"Stop that. I like that head." It's cheesy, something he would have cringed at if he heard another utter it but once he sees the smile she rewards him with none of that matters anymore, he'll say anything to make her beam like that.

"You're such a flirt." She fails at sounding bothered. "Oh and I left her in Seoul. It started raining and I realized you were it for me so I ran into the rain and left her on the sidewalk. Crazy right?" She starts snickering at her own words and he stares at her taken aback laughter forced out of his lungs at her infectious giggles.

She comes into his house like she belongs there, going to his fridge without permission and grabbing a bottle of water. He feels parched watching her drink it, never before has he wished to be a plastic bottle. So many firsts with her.

"What are you staring at?" She tilts her head like a bunny and he can't get the image of her with floppy ears out of his head.

"Cute."

"What?" She blushes furiously at his accidental slip and he clears his throat before grabbing his phone, desperately needing a distraction.

"Nothing. I'll call someone to pick up Mi-Seon."

"Who are you calling?" She asks walking over to him, sitting far too closely for his brain to function at maximum capacity. When a deep familiar masculine voice answers she squeals, bouncing in her seat and giving him thumbs up. He feels so proud he could burst.

"Don't say no. She's all alone and abandoned. What if something happens to her? Could you live with yourself?" He replies to the stuttering officers weak refusals and those are the right words to get the meek man moving, it's comical that he would be playing matchmaker for anyone else.

"You're a master manipulator." She accuses and he stares in surprise, "Does it upset you?" But she surprises him by leaning closer, spread deliciously across his compact couch. "No. It's sexy." Her face is glorious under the soft lighting in his living room and he swallows the drool collecting in his mouth, embarrassed when it starts a coughing fit. She thumps his back firmly before thrusting her water at him, "Drink." He listens obediently.

He gulps at the bottle, taking a deep breath before collapsing backwards into the couch.

"Am I making you nervous?" Making. As if it's only a present occurrence, as if she hasn't been making him swallow his words and expectations from the very beginning. He shifts looking at her through narrowed eyes.

She's far too innocently twirling her hair blinking up at him with wide eyes.

"You're doing this on purpose." She smiles serenely at the claim, leaning back onto the couch and by default his arm that's strewn across the top. She presses her body into the side of his body and he tightens his hold on her shoulder. It all feels too natural.

"I'm surprised it's working. You never seemed affected by me. You denied liking me so easily. Biological crisis, my ass."

He jumps at her cursing, she sounds too much like her father. It makes him smirk.

"I thought I had to. You were right, we are so different. I thought it was something fleeting for you, you told me you're someone who gets curious."

"Pfftt. You think I get curious about just anyone? I have high standards. I'm quite a catch you know?" Her signature bravado, but this time he can see through the veil better. Can spot the cracks and tears and it makes him want to protect her even more.

"I know. You're the best thing I've ever caught."

He'll never grow tired of being the reason that face turns so pink and flushed. (Immediately pushing aside an image of her beneath him.)

"Wait here. I have something for you." He wants to argue as she starts to leave his embrace but she's too quick for his grabby hands and he pouts at her unwanted departure. He moves to follow her but she's back before he's even finished putting on his shoes.

"Where did you go? We could have gone together."

"What? Did you miss me?" She teases, dimples flashing up at him.

"Don't be absurd." He denies but his cheeks burn yes.

"Whatever. I went to get this. Here." She thrusts a large bag at him, looking excited and embarrassed all at once. He takes it confused, prying it open and feeling more confusion wash over him.

"These are men's shirts." He says dumbly and she stares unimpressed at him, rolling her eyes before nodding.

"Yes. I got them for you in Seoul. Keep them even if you don't like them. They're a gift." She looks so small and... scared that he reacts without thinking, dragging his shirt over his head and throwing it to the side. The sight that welcomes him as his head pops out of the hole is not a new one, but it's still as effective as the first time. Hye Jin looks desperate, eyes locked on his now naked chest. His skin raises under her intense gaze.

"Miss Dent--Hye Jin ah?" His call doesn't do anything, well that's a lie it doesn't knock her back to reality like he'd expect instead it seems to be the siren call that lures her closer to him. Her hand outreached before landing on the tense muscles in his stomach, with one touch he already feels devastated.

"What are you doing to me?" He aches to feel and touch and kiss and fuc-

But it's too soon for all that. They haven't even defined this yet and despite all the lines they've crossed he wants to do this right.

Taking a step back he escapes her torturous touch and pulls a shirt from the bag, ready to cover himself back up from her too penetrating gaze.

"Wait." Her voice is so raspy and longing he has no choice and he watches mesmerized as she watches him hungrily, eyes darting all over his naked skin dissecting him. He swallows hard when he sees her little hands balled up in fists by her side. Disbelief swirling in his belly. "Okay. You can do it. That's enough....for now."

His cheeks flare at the seductively spoken words and to stop himself from devouring her like a starved man he slides on a smooth button down shirt. It fits him perfectly and gulps as he buttons it up. Nobody besides his grandfather ever bought him clothes.

"It's a perfect fit." Hye Jin echoes his thoughts smoothing a hand across the soft material. He stands ramrod straight at her ministration.

"Thank you. I'll wear it well." His throat is thick and he has to blink to chase away the tears pooling there, dangerously close to falling. She hums before stepping forward into his space again, that kiss effectively tearing down all the walls and lines they had both erected and drawn.

"You're already wearing it so well. But...it looks even better off. I can't wait to see it on my bedroom floor."

A scandalized squeak is all he's able to get out before she's diving at him and devouring his lips so roughly that they tumble onto the floor.

The pain in his shoulder is worth it as she kisses him senseless systematically driving out every doubt and insecurity. At least for tonight.

[annmarcus63]

GIVE US TO HIM

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Warning: this might hurt a little

on ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/34157128

Grandma said once that to give away your raw score is forbidden.

"Your heart in it's full rawness, chaos, is a precious and dangerous thing. Never you should do something as giving it to someone else."

"But our ancestors used to do it. Look ma ¡look!" said Jaskier holding his story book on the air for grandma's tired eyes to see. A handsome knight was lying on the dry grass, dying from a wound on his stomach. He started calling for his love, an ancient fae with blond hair and fair skin. She fell upon the prairie from the charged clouds, with something shiny between her hands. The fae feed the wound with her raw core, her heart. The knight lived along side her, flying amongst the starry night, happily ever after. "This are just stories, Julian" said Grandma with contened anger in her dry voice. She took the book and close it on her thighs "Things were rarely like that. Knights and kings are more inclined to use our cores against us and other people. We can't recover from that loss" Julian look at the drawing on the coverbook, the fae was kneeled by a pond and the knight stood glorious in practically all the cover, leaving a very small space for the real hero, the one who save the life of the protagonist.

"Never give your raw core away. Stop reading these, THEY wrote this, Julian, you must be clever than her" said Grandma pointing at the beautiful fae. Julian nod, undesrtanding much more that he wanted to, and so little, so so little. Maybe that was the reason his family were hiding, they never express it in a literal way, that was the point really, but Julian notice anyway. The way, for example, of how they said their names and the rust taste that was left on the air after. It was common to hide their real names for fae, but you'd give that name knowing it's false, on the opposite when you say the false name thinking is the real one then another fae would know. Losing the self was something of a disease between the fae. Jaskier later knew that his parents have not choice but to lose themselves to save the lineage. Most fae really. Humans did that. Like they did to the elfes. Julian promise to never forget about the fae from his last storybook. He'll never forget about her sacrifice and the sacrifice of his people. But come on, after some years it was just naturally that, despite the wound on the history, a selfish creature he was and he forgot. He was raised as human, and he wanted to be a bard oh how he want it. And he did accomplish that, and a bloody good one that's for sure. Fae were extinct for all the world and that wasn't a cover, they're doomed to extinction sooner or later. It has been years since the last time Jaskier felt another fae being born. He is Jaskier troubadour, master of the seven liberal arts a mastermind amongst the crowds, a legend…an idiot most of the time basically.

What grandma failed to mention is that for a fae to be able to give their core away the recipient must be worthy at the eyes of the fae. Once this worthiness makes evident, that person would plant roots in the core itself, whether the fae want it or not. It's inevitable. Grandma should have said "be aware of where you place your heart. Hold it until you're fully sure of them" But well, it wouldn't have matter in the end. Jaskier have never being someone who follows advice, much less from his dead relative. It happened naturally, like breathing, eating and shitting. One moment he was standing next to Geralt under a pouring rain, the witcher kept looking for a missing girl on the edges of the woods, her parents place a bounty on the towns board, they couldn't offer payment in form of crowns but they're willing to let them sleep on the girl’s room. Jaskier became indignant, how a witcher is supposed to take a payless bounty? No, that is unacceptable. But despite the protesting bard and zero reward whatsoever Geralt went anyway, he look for a girl who surelly was already dead.

"I found her body near the cave by the pond. You can go for her by morning when it's safe. I'm sorry" after a minute of silence the parents with equal expression of cold sorrow release a heavy sigh charged with so much grief.

"What did it?" asked the father

"Nekkers. I got rid of the pack living there"

"Thank you, witcher. You and your bard can come in, i'm sure you're exhausted” Said the mother with great effort, like someone who can't breathe quite well.

Geralt rapidly added "No, I'm sure you and your husband need time to resign and mourn alone. My bard and i already had another place to stay" Eh, no they didn't.

"But...we don't have any crowns"

"I didn't do this for payment" And while the parents thanked infinitely to Geralt, Jaskier felt something wild and untamed surging from his chest. Reaching unabashed for the witcher with a big golden heart standing next to him, explaining to a mourning parents that he went to search for their lost daughter because he wanted to help. This new awareness of chaos, he knew what it was.

Chaos, core, raw.

And it had marked Geralt as his. We want him.

Give us to him. He's worthy.

He was doomed, so doomed from the very beginning since they encounter each other on Posada. Grandma tried to warn him of this. Oh grandma, you and i both know that I was never obedient or wise. So Jaskier let it happen, four years after knowing the witcher and his raw core already belong to him. But he didn't do it. He hold back despite the urgency on his chest because he wasn't sure it'll be welcome. Geralt was still trying to get rid of him in every town, sometimes Jaskier felt like a pet you don't want but you can't abandon it either. Surely there'd be a time in the future. And Jaskier wait and fell in love deeply with each passing year. And Geralt...well he was the same and also different in his own way, more at ease around him, softer maybe. Jaskier didn't need to be call a friend to felt like one to Geralt. They're friends, even if one part has being in denial for the past decade.

And then the djinn happened follow by the complicated affair with one Yennefer of Vandenberg. The curse caused the core to retreat afraid and wounded. He hurt us, he wished to hurt us. Jaskier argued with the voice that it wasn't his intention, he didn't even know he was the one with the wishes. In truth his heart shattered not for the wish but for the easiness in which the sorceress become someone important to Geralt, something to hold on to even if drowning. One decade and still Jaskier thinks he haven't reached that relationship level with his friend.

He doesn't want us

No.

"Uhmm?"

"What?"

"You said no"

"Oh, it's nothing" Geralt didn't ask again

But weak and in love he was, the raw core and him reached out again, with fully open arms for Geralt to pull. Jaskier long to belong to him, oh how he did.

Yennefer and her shining imbecile knight join the hunt and he was jealous because as soon as she appear the witcher was drooling as if she was all he needed to shut down the darkness inside.

Don't you know? inside me there's a full light waiting for you to hold

At the softness of the afternoon Jaskier found Geralt sitting on a rock lost, as usual, in though. But this time were different, he had failed three people, Borch's dead has left a wound that surely would scar badly. And the bard felt a deep sadness for his golden heart witcher. He's definitely blaming himself for the fall, for that narrow and insecure path alongside the mountain as if he was the one to build it.

Jaskier asked him to come with him to his home, to the coast, he yearn to be there with him and feel the sea wind on their faces while walking by a cliff near a quiet village that Geralt wouldn't mind to visit.

We want to be his.

Give us to him.

We can love him better.

But Geralt didn't want him, he wanted Yennefer.

He give himself to him anyway.

"Here" said Jaskier putting a hand on Geralt's thigh, surprise, instead of flinching away Geralt held Jaskier's hand and with most carefulness took what was inside the palm. A small glass vial, similar to the ones where he pours his potions. He held it on his gloved open hand. There was something inside, warm and inviting. White, almost yellow that make Geralt felt calm and safe.

"What's this?"

"A gift. It'd take care of you" Geralt frown at him, confused and uncertain of what it meant, but he took it with a barely there smile only for Jaskier to see.

He's a coward, he couldn't confessed him the reality of what it meant because he was terrified of being rejected, grandma said that a rejection is so devastating that it might kill him. And even at this point in their friendship Jaskier couldn't know for sure.

It's me. Take me, i'll protect and save you if needed to. Have me, please have me.

Geralt went that night at Yennefer's tent and Jaskier felt glad for not having told him the truth

"If life could give me a blessing it would be to take you off my hands"

No, no, not now.

They're doing fine.

And then very fast very suddenly Geralt reached for his breast pocket to held the vial of raw core on his fist and toss it unceremoniously to the hard soild.

The noise of shattered glass invaded Jaskier's ears before the heavy blankness surged from his chest to every corner of him.

“No, no, no” said he, giving a fumbling step towards the vial but deciding to turn around instead.

Away away away away.

He can't see me like this.

Something was tearing in fine lines caused by the trembling, an earthquake from his very bones that were fighting on maintaining their solid formation. Something inside was bawling with such and intensity that make his ears bleed.

Was this dying? let it be death for he can no longer take it. Does breathing always hurt this much? like if his lungs were filled with wool and the air only add heaviness on them. What was this? a beating heart, so afraid so betrayed, like a laugh from his ancestors. He wanted to throw up his intestines, they're on fire, but when he tried only saliva flood. He was not himself anymore, and to become whole was an impossibility that the pain was making sure off. Dirt get inside his mouth, his cheek on the ground was getting cut by rocks. A voice calling for him to react, to say something. But he no longer have a voice, he was death itself preparing for a long dream.

I’m sorry grandma.

I'm sorry, said to himself

and he remembered the blond fae on the cover book between grandma's hands, of how she give her life to save her love one, but who'd give their life for her?

who'd give their life for him?

He needed to sleep, right here on the mountain ground, to become whole again or at least half whole.

He begged for death instead.