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unhingedangstaddict · 8 months ago

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It seems a lot of people are looking for a distraction right now so here's me trying to do my part. I don't have a name for this WIP yet but I have posted a few other scenes from this WIP already (this post and this post ).

Buck packed their bags while Tommy called the San Francisco Police Department's number on the business card that had been left. He learned that his sister, Cassandra and brother-in-law, Marcus were hit by a drunk driver who’d run a red light at a high speed. San Francisco PD explained they hadn’t been able to locate Avery (Tommy's niece) but that they’d sent officers to notify Dylan (Tommy's nephew), and Marcus’ best friend and secondary emergency contact after Cassandra.

Tommy and Buck took Tommy’s truck, yet Buck was driving. Tommy wasn’t in the right headspace for it and had calls to make anyway. He started with Dylan.

“Uncle Tommy,” Dylan sounded relieved as he answered the phone. “Did you hear-”

“Yeah, D, I- I heard.” Tommy confirmed.

“I haven’t been able to get a hold of Avery,” Dylan started.

“I did, sort of. She’s sleeping hard at a friend’s after a softball game. I spoke with the friend’s mom, they’ll keep her there until I can get to San Fran.” Tommy explained. “She doesn’t know yet, I figure it’ll be better coming from one of us.”

“I’m trying to find a flight but they’re freaking expensive, why are all these damn flights so freaking expensive?” Dylan huffed, he sounded like he was spiraling and on the verge of tears.

“Hey, hey- just take a breath.” Tommy instructed. Dylan had a lot to worry about right now, but not having money for a flight was not one of them. Tommy hadn't expected Dylan to have that kind of cash just laying around being a university student. “I’ll send you some money, just get the first flight you can, okay?”

“Okay.” Dylan let out a shaky breath. “You on your way to San Fran now?”

Tommy put the phone on speaker so he could send Dylan the money. “Yeah, yeah I am. I’m sending the money now. Send me your flight details as soon as you have them, okay?”

“Yeah, I will.”

Tommy didn’t talk with Dylan much longer, as Dylan needed to pack a bag and get to the airport.

“He’s probably so scared.” Buck frowned. He knew this was hard on Tommy but he had to imagine it was much, much harder for Dylan.

“No doubt.” Tommy agreed.

“Should- do you think someone’s contacted your father?” Buck asked as carefully as he could. He knew Thomas Kinard Sr was not a great father or grandfather to say the least, but he still should be made aware of what was happening.

“I’ll call him later. Him knowing now or later won't make any difference and he’s probably asleep right now and if someone wakes him up he’ll still be drunk and he’ll be pissed. Noon will probably be the best time to call, he’ll be awake and he’ll have a drink or two in him, but he won’t be shitfaced yet.”

Buck just nodded in understanding, and kept his focus on driving.

The timing worked out that it made the most sense to pick up Dylan from the airport before going to collect Avery. Buck and Tommy waited for him at his arrival gate, and soon he approached them. Dylan was about lanky, about 5’10, with short curly reddish brown hair, blue eyes, and freckles. He looked exhausted and lost as he silently approached his uncle and hugged him tightly.

“I got you.” Tommy told Dylan as he wrapped his arms around his nephew and held him close.

Eventually Dylan pulled away. “Hi Buck.” he said politely, then looked at Tommy. “Still gotta get Avery, right?” He guessed.

“Yeah.” Tommy confirmed. “We should get going.”

Tommy drove them from the airport to Avery’s friend’s house and soon they were parked in front of the house.

“She’s gonna know something is wrong the moment she sees either one of us.” Dylan pointed out. “I should be in Intro to Algorithms right now and you should be, doing whatever you’d be going at eleven in the morning on a Tuesday.”

“I know.” Tommy sighed. “I’m gonna go up to the door and get her, then once she’s in the truck we- we’ll break the news.” He told Dylan, then got out and went up to the house. He rang the bell and patiently waited.

Soon the door was answered by a middle aged woman who must’ve been Madison’s mom. “You must be Avery’s uncle.”

“Yes.” Tommy nodded.

The woman nodded. “I’ll grab her, she’s ready to go.” She promised and disappeared further into the house.

After a moment Avery came into view. Avery was 5’6 with an athletic build, and the same reddish brown colored hair as her brother, though her hair didn’t have the same curl her brother’s did. She had the same blue eyes as him though, and more freckles than Dylan. “Uncle Tommy?” She frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ll explain in a moment. We should get going, there’s some people waiting in the car.”

“Okay.” Avery said slowly. She turned to her friend and said goodbye, grabbed her bag, and followed Tommy out to his truck. She opened the back passenger side door and saw her brother. “Dylan?”

“Hey Aves.” Dylan tried to sound upbeat but didn’t quite hit the mark.

“You look like shit.” Avery told her brother as she handed him her bag and climbed into the truck.

“Thanks.” Dylan said sarcastically as he shoved her bag on the floor between their feet.

“Okay, now will someone tell me what is going on? Where’s mum and dad?”

“Avery, they um,” Dylan started, but was having a hard time continuing.

“There was an accident last night. They were hit by a drunk driver.” Tommy continued.

“No. No you’re lying.” Avery shook her head.

“They’re gone, Avery. They didn’t make it.” Dylan explained.

“And you guys kept it from me?” Avery seemed upset by this.

“Was I supposed to send a text, hey Aves we’re orphans now?” Dylan asked incredulously.

“You should’ve told me! You kept it from me for- well long enough for the two of you to get here.” Avery argued.

“We wanted to be with you, when you found out.” Tommy explained calmly.

“This isn’t happening.” Avery muttered and put her head in her hands.

Tommy looked helplessly at Dylan, then at Evan.

All Buck could do was take Tommy’s hand and try to offer some silent comfort. He had a feeling he’d be doing that a lot the next little while.

If anyone wants to read more lmk I've got a bunch of this story written and I'm happy to share if someone needs something to take their mind off other things for a little bit

#911 fanfic #bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy fanfic #tw death #current wip #uncle tommy kinard

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joelsgoldrush · 8 months ago

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wip wednesday: "lovers once a year" (dbf!joel miller)

hello to you, tiny people on my phone. reaching the end of this semester has thrown me onto a motherfucking rollercoaster. if i even think about the amount of finals i have to sit for, i'm afraid i'll tear up. so here i am, drifting away from real-life responsibilities </3 still working on this dbf!joel fic cause i haven't had much time to write lately, but i'm trying not to be too hard on myself. i really like how it's coming along. i'm close to finishing, though i'm not going to promise a specific posting date because i never seem to manage it LMAO

anyway, thank you to @elflutter @joelsdagger and @ovaryacted for tagging me!!!

No one could’ve ever said Joel was a great best friend. For one, he was terrible at remembering important dates. His mind just didn’t catch hold of details like that—never had, really. He wasn’t the affectionate type, either. At best, he’d manage a pat on the back or a firm handshake, maybe even a call on Christmas if he remembered. Emotional displays weren’t in his nature, far too used to keeping things at arm’s length. Luckily for him, Stephen never seemed to care much about these things. They’d been friends for over forty years—which is, well, a hell of a long time, especially considering each had gone off to carve out his own life. They’d trudged through both primary and secondary school side by side, and Joel felt Stephen’s absence like a hollow ache the day his friend left for university in another state. Technology eventually offered them more ways to connect, but it didn’t make keeping up any simpler. The years had tested them, and somehow, they’d held on to the quiet strength of their friendship—a bond they’d forged across decades and distance, held steady like the roots of an old tree. Stephen was the laid-back type, always down for anything as long as a cold beer was part of the deal. It was rare for him to lose his temper, having a way of letting nuisances slide. Joel could bend every rule, yet Stephen’s patience never wavered. He was unflappable, hardly bothered by Joel’s mood swings, which was what made them a match made in heaven. Nothing seemed to throw him off. Though Joel doubts Stephen would stay so calm if he knew what he’d done to his daughter. As mentioned, Joel’s not exactly what you’d call a good friend—particularly considering he’s slept with his best friend’s daughter. Just once, to be fair. One ephemeral, impulsive encounter. Right here, in this very house, exactly three hundred and sixty-five days ago.

AND

Apart from the glint in your eyes, he catches the persistent, quiet ache of want. He isn’t sure if it’s just physical attraction, if it runs deeper, or if that’s all it is for him, either. He doesn’t need to know. The simplicity of it all is a short-lived relief. It’s an easy escape, though, this bare minimum of understanding—you want him, he wants you. Let it be enough for one more moment, for tonight, just another memory he’ll have to lock away. Yet he’s aware, deep down, of his own pattern: promises broken just as easily as they’re made. He’s only fooling himself. The part of him that knows this isn’t something he’ll let go of so easily sits there, silently taunting him, daring him to make another promise he won’t keep.

tagging: @lubdubology @zloshy @princessanglophile @cavillscurls @guiltyasdave @tightjeansjavi @mrsmando - so sorry if you've already been tagged :( - and anybody else who feels like doing it!

#wip #fic: lovers once a year #joel miller #joel miller fic #dbf joel miller #dbf!joel

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brainwashinsou · 6 months ago

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WIP of mine that’ll probably never get done. I’m really into freak show and side show stuff and am half brewing a freak show/circus fanfic but I can’t ever settle on the details. Rambling plot under the cut.

I kinda thought about having Shinso be a side show mentalist type performer who thinks his act is good enough for the main circus. Bakugo and Midorya used to be an aerial acrobat team but Midorya now does that with Ururaka. Kirishima and Bakugo now do floor work acrobatics together with Kirishima as the base and Bakugo as the flyer. Kirishima also has a small solo strong man act to warm up the crowd before the main circus, lifting weights, tearing phone books, bending pane, the works. Kaminari does an electric act. He does stuff like sitting in an electric chair and lighting a light bulb with his body and zapping any audience member that doubts if it’s real. All Might is the ringleader. Aizawa works behind the scenes. He doesn’t understand why Shinso wants to move his performance to the big top instead of staying at the sideshow. However, he’s seen everything, been here longer than anyone, so he helps him.

Koda would be an animal handler. All Might the ringleader. I’m not sure who the clowns would be, I’ll take input.

My main issue with this is I’m not sure what the conflict is like whose stopping him? Magicians are pretty solidly a circus act while the electricity act is a standard sideshow act that would never make it to a circus. So Shinso would actually be more likely to be in the main circus than Kaminari. I could have Shinso actually just be working behind the scenes with Aizawa and wanting to join the freak show. Maybe Kaminari lets him assist with his act, somebody needs to hold the light bulbs and filaments, plus Shinsos crazy hair makes him aesthetically a great sidekick for Kaminari. I also don’t see there being outright rejection from any of the 1A members or teachers so like where’s the conflict come from? But maybe the conflict could also be more dismissal than outright rejection like. Oh the acts are all full… oh you are so good at sweeping up though… oh we wouldn’t want you to get hurt.

I also don’t know if i wanna include villains but FUCK dabi as a human candelabra would FUCK SO HARD even tho i don’t think that’s a real act that freakazoid would do human pin cushion shit.

Also i can never decide if its quirkless or not. I think it would work better with no quirks but quirks r soooo fun especially if i want them to hook up.

Idk let me know what u guys think!!

Also some sketches

Y’all have no idea how hard it is to lock down this color palette when purple is like the only paint color i NEVER see in these freak show posters like

It’s usually red, orange, yellow ad the main colors with green and blue as secondary colors. I’ve seen purple on the subject of the painting even less often than it being in the background.

#mha #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #shinso hitoshi #hitoshi shinso #shinso #Shinsou #shinso mha #Shinsou mha #Shinsou Hitoshi #Hitoshi Shinsou #kaminari #Kirishima #Bakugo #my art #thoughts

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syoddeye · 3 months ago

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hi sy!

was wondering how you decide when to put a fic down when writing. i have so many things that i want to write/have written but they keep snowballing into something bigger and i can't really finish anything. very fun in the moment to have all these things in my head but also frustrating to not have anything finished!

hello! i hear you. you’re not alone in that feeling at all. snowballs happen. not all of my wips are shared to tumblr, so trust that this is me.

for me, deciding to put something down usually comes when it stops feeling fun or when it starts feeling more like a burden than a joy.

you have the idea part down. it sounds like you need help with discipline, specifically not letting your stuff spiral. i have very general advice for working on that - as always, i’m not an expert:

set boundaries on the project. what is the core of it? a mission? character analysis? porn with plot? a budding/deteriorating relationship? define what you’re actually trying to capture, and treat everything else as optional or secondary.

give yourself a word limit. i have a couple projects right now where my entry/chapter limits are 1.5k-3.5k depending. it helps keep things tight and makes me focus on what needs to be written.

worldbuilding. how important is it to your fic? can you keep it to a minimum without losing people? should you detail every member of a fictitious small town government if it’s only briefly alluded to once or twice? is worldbuilding a fun toy for your brain to chew, keeping in mind chew toys are used to help tire dogs out? i love worldbuilding, but you’ve got to ask yourself if it’s for the benefit of your readers or for your own fascination. there is no wrong answer, but you have to be okay with that dictating your time.

utilize writing sprints. pick a wip, set a timer, and work only on that for x amount of time. build in buffer time if you know you’ll need to ~get in the zone~.

track your progress. i fell out of the habit of using trackbear, but a visual might help motivate you.

things that i do to help myself stay motivated and focused on one project:

when i sit down to write, i pick whatever jumps out at me first and it becomes my priority for that window of time.

i set small goals. stuff like “i am going to finish this scene” or “i will write 300 words”.

i let myself jump wips if i suddenly have an idea for dialogue or a scene. i keep it short, 2-3 minutes, then i return to what i was working on. there’s no point in beating myself up for having an idea.

give yourself credit. you’re still creating. all that writing is practice and exploration. and if you put something down, it doesn’t mean you’re putting it down forever. you’re letting it simmer.

anyway. above all, write for yourself. follow your bliss. i hope everything above is helpful, but remember there are no real rules and you gotta do what works for you.

#sy asks #in conclusion don’t bully yourself. have fun. you might have to try lots of different tips and tricks before you find what works for you.

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novantinuum · 1 year ago

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Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Teen Audiences (CW: Description of attempted suicide) Words: 5.4K~ Summary: There’s more to this story, Lars can feel it brimming in his very bones. He can feel it squirming around in the tangled coils of his guts, a primal, virulent rot that threatens to consume him from the inside out. Something is off with Steven, something is distinctly wrong. And oh, does he hate being right. - When an unexpected visitor tumbles through the magic portal in his hair long after hours, breathless and bright pink, Lars must amass the courage to weather one of the most difficult conversations of his life.

Hey folks- this is a really heavy one, but it's a story I've been sitting on in my WIPs for a good four years and am very happy to finally set loose. A lot of personal experience has been poured into this particular fic, and I hope you enjoy.

Please take care and mind the content warning given above. If you're curious on what else this story entails, you can click through to see the AO3 tags as well. Love y'all!

Advocate

The Sun Incinerator’s bridge is unusually quiet tonight, with almost everyone spending the evening in their quarters. As such, the only sounds greeting Lars’ ears right now are the dull buzz of their FTL-drive and the gentle chimes of one of the ship’s secondary consoles in the back. (Padparadscha’s making some adjustments to the mainframe parameters, hoping to secure them more malleable control over each system’s energy output.) It makes for a rather meditative scene… focusing on these lulling, almost formulaic bits of white noise as he peers through the glass and watches entire stars and solar systems zip by as nothing but razor thin tendrils of light, the very fabric of space warping and folding around their ship in a myriad of hypnotizing colors. Content to simply be in this peaceful silence, he stretches back in his captain’s chair, allowing a wide smile to rejuvenate his countenance. There’s genuinely nothing more relaxing in all the universe than this.

Though, as he begins to muse upon today’s chaotic ventures of choice, it occurs to him that he hasn’t logged anything down for a good few cycles. And that really, really needs to change, he thinks. Keeping thorough audio records of their whereabouts and activities could prove useful if they get into any more legal scrapes with disgruntled Gems. Plus, it’s great for personal posterity— for when he and the fam want to kick back with some mixers and reminisce about old times.

He activates the mic embedded in the armrest of his seat with a single tap, and clears his throat.

“Logging… stardate one-three zero-five twenty eighteen,“ he begins, rhythmically tapping his fingers against the cool metal. “Or, uh… however that’s supposed to work,” he tags on with a bemused mumble, his nose wrinkling in personal annoyance as he realizes he might have completely jumbled the date format again. At this point, half of his logs are month first, then date, and the other half are date then month. Ugh, what a mess. Perhaps one day he’ll standardize the captain’s logging procedure, but that future is definitely not now.

And knowing him, it’s probably not gonna be tomorrow, either.

He’s unable to help his exhausted yawn as he kicks back and unwinds, throwing his legs over the side of the armrest as he pushes ahead with his recounting of the last few hours.

“Today’s travels once again had us come face-to-face with our favorite frenemy Emerald, who claimed that her latest star cruiser had the booster technology to easily outperform all other Era 3 ships and challenged us to a race across the Stellaris Astroid Field in sector 9. We won, of course,” he says with a smug lilt to his voice. “The Rutiles’ savvy piloting saw to that, as well as Fluorite’s last-minute engine modifications. I think we hit like… a record cruising speed?” He presses his lips into a thin line and turns his head towards his friend working at the rear of the main deck. “Hey Pady? D’ya happen to remember what our top velocity came to during the final stretch of that race?”

She pauses in her self-appointed duty and hums in careful thought, sorting back through her eidetic knowledge of the recent past like it’s nothing but child’s play. “I believe… 181 klicks per second, nearing the speed of light.”

“And that was like… a record, yeah?” he asks, a sudden hair-raising twinge of… well, something settling deep at the pit of his chest. He ignores it for now. Such phantom pangs aren’t uncommon these days. He’s not exactly sure what causes it yet, and chalks it up to more ‘pink zombie’ weirdness.

“For our craft, yes,” she nods. “For all Gemkind, no. I was curious, as well. As far as I’ve read from Homeworld’s databases, the current non-FTL cruising record is 186.1 klicks per second.”

Lars can’t help the scoffing chuckle that bubbles within his throat. “Ugh. Good grief, that’s basically light speed as it is. Like, leave some room for competition for the rest of us, yeah?”

Padparadscha gives a faint snicker of agreement as she turns her focus back to the ship’s mainframe interface. Right, right… she’s got work to get done. Which really reminds him, he needs to get back to his point too, or else this log’s gonna be stuffed with nothing but meaningless chit-chatter and asides. He sighs, leaning his cheek against the seat’s edge again.

“But in any case,” he continues into the mic, “our latest victory over Emerald seems to ha—”

With zero warning whatsoever that hollow pang at his core intensifies, its thrall pulsing louder and louder until it’s a thunderous cascade of static rippling through his very veins. He hisses in alarm, jamming his hands over his ears out of pure bodily instinct. This doesn’t help, of course— as this cacophonous feeling (not a sound, not some external input he can mute or modulate, but a feeling—) seems to be emanating from within, from a place all but intangible to the physical realm, from—

He spies that oh-so-familiar glow emanating from the fringe of his hair just a split second before his surprise visitor tumbles through and throws off his center of balance, unceremoniously toppling both of them to the floor in a ridiculous tangle of limbs.

Lars’ exhales become laborious as he extracts himself from under the teen and clambers back up to his knees, heart pounding with more fervent intensity than it has since he up and died a few years back.

And right on cue, about fifteen seconds too late:

“Captain Lars, Steven is about to cross through the portal in your head!”

“Yeah, I noticed, thanks,” he snaps in the shock of it all, feeling guilty for this snide remark the second it passes through his lips. (Because Padparadscha can’t help her compulsive ‘predictions.’ He knows this. Everyone knows this. He’ll have to find time to pull her aside and apologize.)

But not now.

Not yet.

Because the alarm bells rung by Pady’s next comment are enough to slap him right out of his brooding contemplation and back to the troubling here-and-now.

“I also predict that Steven won’t be in a very sound state of mind when he arrives,” she says, a noticeable tension building in her tone.

His eyes blow wide as he shifts his full attention to his friend, clad in a pair of sweatpants and a thin sleep shirt.

Steven is… oh, geeze. It seems Steven can’t even manage coherent speech right now. His cheeks are blotchy and raw with recent tears. He’s doubled over on the floor with one hand clutching at his center as he heaves for breath, glowing bright ass pink and looking halfway to hyperventilating. One thing’s for sure: it’s really, really hard to watch. His own chest growing insufferably tight in sympathy, Lars leaps to action, unwilling to let the poor guy wallow in the thickets of whatever the hell this breakdown is about any longer than he has to.

“H-hey…” he begins, edging towards him with the same slow deliberateness he always has to use with the rescue dog his parents recently adopted. And like, yeah— a part of him feels really rude for comparing his own friend to a skittish, fretful animal— but it’s a comparison that seems all the more apt the longer he drinks in the realities of this situation.

Because just like ol’ Maru, Steven is jumpy, horrifically on-edge, and ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

Lars frowns, considering what few options he has.

Realizing his friend’s not likely to calm down very well so out in the open like this, he turns towards his fellow Off-Color.

“Pady, I’m taking him to my quarters. Can you let the others know, and uh… tell them not to disturb us for a while?”

“Yes, right away,” she chimes, hopping off her seat.

“Thank you,” he breathes, expression softening. “I mean it. And sorry about— well, I’ll talk with you later, all right?”

Her mouth falling into a perfectly neutral line (even if she’s incapable of reading the future, he’s sure she’s intensely aware of what he wishes to speak to her about from mere context clues alone), the Gem serves him a solid nod of acceptance and spins on her heels, striding down the hall with a level of confidence he envies. The bridge’s door slides shut after her, leaving him and his glowing, pink hued guest entirely alone.

Alone, and incredibly, incredibly vulnerable, like a live wire flailing about atop a damaged Earth power line.

(The last thing anyone on this ship needs is him having one of his infamous explosive episodes here and compromising the bridge’s airlock system. Which is why his quarters— below deck and fully enclosed— is a far more ideal locale for them right now.)

“O-okay, Steven,” he says, holding out his arm in aid as the teen struggles to clamber back to his feet. “Let’s go somewhere private to cool down, yeah?”

A few minutes later, Lars has Steven situated on the one plush sofa he keeps in his quarters. Since he no longer possess any biological need for sleep and thus doesn’t keep a bed, his room on the ship is pretty sparse— just a desk for journaling or gaming and some shelves with a number of sentimental knick-knacks he brought with him from Earth— but he did find it important to keep a couch. Even if he doesn’t need to sleep, curling up for a quick hour of shut-eye still feels quite rejuvenating sometimes. Plus, it’s handy to have whenever he hosts visitors. Like now.

Lars sits himself down right next to the distressed teen. He’s still flushed bright pink, but has regained a fair bit of emotional stability compared to how he was right after tumbling out of the magic space portal in his hair. It might take a while until the glow fades away entirely, but it’s progress, at least.

He sighs, rapping his fingertips against his jeans as he gives his friend some time in silence to cool down. The last thing the guy needs right now is for him to wave half a dozen questions in his face. He’ll talk when he’s ready. Or, hell, maybe not at all. That’s okay, too. Maybe he just wanted a place to have a quick little freak-out away from his family or girlfriend. Who’s he to judge? Sometimes a man’s just gotta be alone for a while.

Of course, he muses, if Steven really wanted to be alone, then he wouldn’t have crossed through Lion’s mane over to him, now would he? So this visit can’t only be due to a desire for solitude. Steven sought out him— specifically him— for a reason.

That churning, hollow pang at his core radiates even stronger, pulsing at the same interval as the dull tick of the clock he has hanging up on his wall, the one he keeps set to Earth EST as an everlasting reminder of his humble human roots and all the people who care about him back home.

Finally— some ten or so minutes later— the seventeen-year-old stops glowing, that unnatural, otherworldly pallor fading into obscurity. The kid (sorry, but Steven will always be a ‘kid’ to him at this point, don’t matter his age) deflates in exhaustion, cupping his face in his hands.

Now a little more confident that his expressions of concern won’t rile him up to destructive levels of stress, Lars makes a gentle inquiry as to what brought him here.

“‘Course, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he tacks on quickly when he sees Steven’s expression widen with an almost grief-stricken apprehension, “but since I’m here an’ all, I figured…”

His guest sucks in a deep, shaky bout of air.

“N-no, I wanna talk,” he says, voice painfully hoarse. “I came here to talk, but I— it’s just so, so much, I-I’m—”

Lars’ eyes soften. “Dude, it’s okay. Take your time.”

And take his time he does. Another minute or so passes whilst Steven continues to reel himself in on the emotional side of things, breathing slow and heavy as he levels a dead-eyed stare at the blank section of wall flanking the doorway and his desk.

“Connie and I had a fight,” he begins eventually, his tone streaked with embarrassment. “Over the phone.”

Lars’ brow shoots up. Huh. All right. This is absolutely not the opener he expected.

“Really? You two fight? About what?”

“It doesn’t even matter anymore. It was nothing,” Steven mutters, clenching and unclenching his fists against the soft fabric of his pajama pants in a markedly uneven rhythm. “Just me being an idiot, as per usual. I’m sure we’ll make up over it tomorrow. But the problem is that we hung up mad. And when I’m mad about something, it just… makes me mad at myself. A-and then it’s like—” anxious, clawing hands migrate to his head, gripping at his hair— “w-when I’m mad at myself I just spiral? And it’s so, so scary how fast that can happen.”

Ever so slight, his lip presses into a tense frown as he listens. He doesn’t interject, not yet. Steven’s not finished with his disclosure— there’s more to this story, he can feel it brimming in his very bones. He can feel it squirming around in the tangled coils of his guts, a primal, virulent rot that threatens to consume him from the inside out. Something is off with him, something is distinctly wrong.

And oh, does he hate being right.

“I just… couldn’t stop thinking about it,” Steven admits.

The aching hollowness etched into the contours of his friend’s face intensifies, if that’s even possible.

Lars swallows.

“It?”

“—about killing myself,” he rasps, “and finally being done with all this.”

…

So, he’s not gonna lie.

While— much like himself— Steven’s never been the sort of person to prefer wearing his most turbulent emotions on his sleeve, he’s long suspected something like this was going on with him.

He suspected (because he’s been right there in those trenches himself), but he never said anything.

He never mentioned these worries to any of his guardians.

And he never asked.

‘Cause like, how could he, right?? What a horrible, triggering inquiry that would be. ‘Hey Steven, hah, so random question— you don’t happen to casually fantasize about your own death or anything sometimes, do you?’ Fucking hell, what an asshole he’d make. What a disgusting, disgusting breech of boundaries. He always hated it when his parents violated his trust by butting into his own personal business unprompted, so how could he ever turn right around and do that to Steven? To one of his most cherished friends in the whole galaxy? To the guy who— despite years and years of putting up with all his toxic bullshit and daring to see the good in him anyways— literally brought him back to life?

Thus, with him never volunteering any information himself, all that was left for Lars to do was watch.

To watch, and to listen where he can.

But still.

He’s not gonna lie.

Even if he always kinda suspected, even if so many of their interactions this past year only acted as fuel for all his constant, silent worries, hearing the kid actually say those words hurts like a bitch.

…

“Steven…” he utters with widened eyes, extending his hand.

To no avail, though.

“And that’s stupid, right??” the teen blurts out with a broad sweep of his arms, either ignoring or plain not noticing his offer of comfort as he rants onwards, his demeanor growing more and more unstable with each and every syllable. “That’s just… stupid! Normal people don’t think like that! Normal people don’t make mistakes and instantly leap to the worst possible punishment and spin that little thought around, and around, and around in your head until you’ve considered a thousand different scenarios that all end the same way.”

He pauses for breath, his chest heaving in and out— probably amidst the exertion of being so damn honest for once. Lars doesn’t even make a sound within this brief span of quiet. A part of him is a little terrified at what else might spill out of his friend’s mouth now that the cork of his anxieties has thoroughly been popped off, but he’s even more terrified at the thought of derailing him, of unintentionally stopping these truths from ever being spoken.

“And it’d be so easy, too,” Steven says, his once manic tone dropping a little lower, into something that’s worryingly more akin to numb acceptance. “I already know exactly how I’d do it! All I’d have to do is smash my gem so I don’t heal, and slit my wrists, and let myself just—” his voice cracks— “drift away, b-but—”

Lars’ brow hardens with a sudden rush of understanding as the trajectory of the teen’s sentence trails on off. “But something’s… holding you back?”

He nods, swallowing so hard that he can see the resultant lump move along the center line of his throat.

“The problem is,” he says, voice raw and vulnerable, “I’ve already seen how my family would respond to that. To… to me trying to kill myself. When I turned into that monster, I— I don’t actually remember much about it, but what I do remember is that the last thought I had before I changed was eerily similar to what I’m feeling now.”

Momentary lull. He’s rotating a thought in his head with the same intensity of a set of steam engine gears grinding against each other, that much is obvious.

“I think… for me,” he continues with marked hesitation, “corruption was a form of suicide. Which means—” he grinds his fingers into the soft fabric of his pajama bottoms as if seeking out an anchor, any anchor at all— “I already know what that would do to them. And I hate that I do, b-because… ‘cause I’m just so tired. Of all of this. I just want everything to stop. I want to stop.”

Lars can’t help but wince as he listens to the developing theme of this admission, to how each and every new word his friend weaves into existence falls into such dissonant harmony with the gloomy, directionless version of himself he’s worked so hard to let rest in the past. Hell, he might as well be looking straight into some weird, warped mirror of his own teenage years. His lungs seize tight upon this revelation. Instinctively, he extends his hand towards the guy’s shoulder, sobered by the understanding that he’s possibly the sole person in this entire quadrant who’s capable of conveying even an ounce of sympathy or comfort for what he’s battling through right now.

“Hey, man. It’s okay. It’s over, now, you’re here with me. Those are just thoughts, y’know?”

Steven shakes his head, the motion swift and drenched with the dread of all his unaddressed self-loathing.

“But they’re not, though…”

“Wait, what are you even—?”

“Because… this time I almost carried through with it.”

His expression crumples upon the advent of this spoken revelation.

Fuck, he thinks, wishing with every last brittle nerve in his body that this conversation didn’t just swerve in the exact godawful direction he always feared it might. What the actual fuck.

He is so not equipped for this.

With literally nothing else in his arsenal but the drive to bite his lip and listen, Lars motions for him to continue.

Sniffling, the teen backs his story up to provide what little context he feels comfortable with sharing.

“After Connie and I’s fight… well, my dreams were really, really bad. So I woke up. Alone. And I started spiraling real bad again, an’… and then before I could even process what was happening, I—”

Sweet stars, is the poor guy trembling as he struggles to push this admission out. With a brief waver of hesitation (‘cause in normal circumstances, he’s not huge on all this touchy-feely stuff), he reaches over, angling to rest one of his hands over Steven’s.

“I had the knife in my hand,” he says. “And a pestle from the kitchen, to smash my gem. B-but I just… I just couldn’t do it! I’m just a coward, Lars! A stupid fucking coward who can’t even—”

He doesn’t utter a single syllable.

He doesn’t even think. (How could he, in such fraught circumstances?)

Limbs trembling in an outright terrifying cascade of adrenaline he hasn’t experienced since the day he finally found something worth existing for, Lars surges forward to wrap him into what’s gotta be the tightest, most sincere hug he’s given in his whole twenty-one years of life.

And thankfully, such an impulsive interjection is all it takes.

The walls his friend’s erected around himself this past season topples like wayward dominos. They smash against the ground, crumbling into vulnerable, vulnerable fragments.

Steven sobs into his shoulder with a raw, shattered fervency that stretches leagues beyond any outpour of emotion he’s ever witnessed from another living person. It’s messy. It’s visceral. And in the precise context of this intensely specific turn of events, it’s a damn cathartic relief… because when it comes to training your brain out of a deep-rooted death wish, feeling anything— literally anything at all— is step number fucking one.

“I wanted to die so badly,” the teen warbles, his ugly mixture of snot and tears staining his shirt all the while. “B-but… I’m just such a worthless, pathetic failure that I can’t even do that right!”

He can’t help but cringe at this admission, but resolves to remain silent, not wanting a gentle pushback to such brutal self-loathing to spook Steven away from showing any shred of vulnerability whatsoever. He’s been there plenty of times himself. After all, when a person who’s caught in such a void of hopelessness and despair makes a last ditch appeal for help, they’re usually not looking to be told ‘everything will get better in time, you’ll see’ or ‘don’t be so hard on yourself, you’re not a worthless failure at all,’ or whatever other empty attempt at reassurance someone who doesn’t have such intimate experience with depression and suicidal ideation as he does might come up with. In many cases, such people are simply vying for their bleakest, most private feelings to actually be heard for once in their lives.

The moment’s sanctity unhindered, the boy continues to cry against his shoulder for a good long stretch of time. Lars barely even breathes as he sits perched at the very edge of that couch, consigned to nothing but a statue as he holds him within what’s gotta be a record for the galaxy’s most awkward and stiff embrace ever shared.

A miniature eternity passes within this space before those sobs finally begin to lighten up.

“‘M sorry,” Steven mumbles through a face full of snot, pulling away from his offered comfort as a flicker of shame wrests control of his features.

Lars shakes his head in a vehement refusal of the habitual guilt spiral he’s sure the guy’s a split second from slipping right into. “Dude, don’t be. Stars, I— I’m just glad you came over to me, okay?”

Then, swallowing… and doing his upmost best to consider the most respectful way to broach such a sensitive topic, he continues:

“I… I don’t mean to pry, but… are you… taking anything for this?”

Steven’s glassy expression scrunches into a configuration that screams nothing but blank confusion. “What?”

“Like… medication, or—?”

A bright understanding dawns within his gaze like the glow from a passing star system, before immediately collapsing inwards into a bitter, shadowed singularity.

“No… no,” he protests, gesticulating all the while, “I keep telling everyone— my therapist, my dad, the Gems— I don’t wanna take any medicine! I’m not sick, I’m not, I don’t need drugs in my brain, I just— I just need to stop acting like this, just need to do better, to be better, I-I need—”

“Steven, no offense, but it’s called mental illness for a reason,” Lars says in the most deadpan tone he can muster, crossing his arms as he leans back upon the plush of the couch cushion. “Your brain is ill. That’s literally what this is. If you had the flu, you’d be taking flu medicine to help yourself get over it, right?”

“I’ve never had the flu,” he says in miserable contradiction.

“Yeah, well— come on, man, just work with me here,” he half-snaps, throwing a hand up for emphasis. “You agree that someone who is ill deserves medicine to feel better, right?”

The teen merely shrugs, his features growing cold and sullen. And good golly does he super want to smack all this noncommittal, self-sabotaging bullshit out of his stupid fucking system right this instant— because it reminds him so damn much of himself, and he hates that it does— but… aughhh. He’s gotta be more mature than that, doesn’t he?

As the older of the pair, he’s gotta be the role model here.

“Then, don’t you think you might benefit from the same thing?” he presses.

Steven responds in the negative, swiveling his head from side to side. “I don’t know how it’d interact with… well—”

He flashes a sharp gesture towards himself. More specifically, towards his very center, where his gem sits. Lars has no need to live inside his thoughts to pick up on the tricky little issue he’s hinting at here… he’s worried about how human medications would interact with the complexities of part-Gem physiology. And to be fair, it’s a reasonable concern to have.

But then again…

“That’s how it is with humans, too,” he shrugs. “It takes some people a lot of trial and error to find a drug and dosage that works for them. For once, you wouldn’t be any more an unusual case than anyone else. Do what you want, but—” deep inhale— “if it were me, I’d really consider talking with a psychiatrist about this.”

The teen issues a dull huff through his nose. It’s the sort of response that makes it clear he reluctantly agrees with Lars’ logic, but should he actually follow his advice— and stars, he hopes he does— won’t be doing so with a willing heart. That’s fine, though. Sometimes, being the most supportive friend one can be means that the other party won’t always like what you have to say. He knows this from intense personal experience… from being the person on the other side of this kind of conflict. Sadie was never afraid of serving him the tough love and cutting perspective he needed when he opened up to her about his own experience with suicidal ideation, and he’s forever grateful for that. Thus, the least he can do now is try to be that kind of advocate for Steven, too.

Which brings him to the next vital topic rattling within his brain.

“Oh, and one other thing,” Lars says, folding his hands in his lap and looking him directly in the eye. “This is important, so please be honest with me. Have you told anyone else you’ve been struggling with these kinds of thoughts?”

“Not really,” he mumbles, his own gaze slipping aside amidst the turbulent throes of his clear shame. “I just… I wanted to deal with this myself. I don’t want them to be disappointed. They all think I’m doing so well these days, but then—”

“Steven.”

There’s no acknowledgement of his call, at first. He’s just too damn tangled within his own thoughts— expression glazed over and restless fingertips drumming in an endless thrall against his thigh.

“Steven, come on. Look at me,” he implores, interrupting his manic fidgeting with the reassuring solidity of a hand over his. “Please. Promise me, when you go back through my head, you’ll call someone else— anyone else— and tell them. Tell them, and then have them contact me. I want to hear you promise.”

“Lars…”

“Promise me,” he repeats with an even stronger fervency, his normally sluggish heartbeat surging halfway to its old full-strength status quo. “Listen, I don’t want to invade your privacy any more than you want me to, but if you don’t do this by the end of tomorrow… if that very clock—” he jabs a finger towards the so-mentioned object hanging upon his wall— “hits midnight and I don’t hear anything from your family… then I’m calling your father and telling him myself.”

Steven’s expression twists with a sharp jolt of dismay, his mouth falling ajar. Lars cuts off any pending protests with a swift flash of his hand and continues undeterred.

“I’m not joking. I’m like, a billion light years in space, man. You need someone closer to home in your corner, too.”

Unable to ignore the hard hitting truth of this statement, his friend finally acquiesces to his request, his shoulders slumping inwards.

“Fine,” he mumbles, folding his arms to his chest. “I promise I’ll tell Dad.”

“Thank you,” he breathes in sheer spine tingling relief. And by golly, does he uber mean it.

Because holy shit, have the past fifteen or so minutes of conversation been an absolute stress-soaked ordeal. He doesn’t know if he’s ever felt so emotionally exhausted in his whole ass existence.

“In the morning, though,” Steven adds. “I—” the kid heaves a long, exhausted sigh— “I really don’t think either of us are prepared for that kind of conversation this late.”

“Absolutely fair enough.”

His friend sniffles a little, gaze averting once more. “Can I— can I stay here, for tonight? I really, really don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Of course,” he nods. In his mind, Steven’s request was never a matter up for debate. “Always. I’ll… I’ll go get some blankets.”

Hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans, Lars pushes himself off the couch and slowly shuffles his way to the door. (The storage closet he keeps all his extra personal elements in is a short distance down the hall, past Rhody and Padparadscha’s shared room.) He keeps his expression as blank as he can muster… at least until he’s moved well out of both visual and auditory range. And then�� once he’s absolutely positive that Steven can’t overhear… all that built-up worry and emotional strain simply overflows.

He’s not outright crying— not in the way that others might— but damn if he’s not real close to it.

Lars’ whole body shudders with a burst of delayed grief as he braces himself upon the closet door. He clamps a hand over his mouth, stifling the impact of the shaky exhale that spills from his lips otherwise unhindered. Just… fuck. What the fuck. All of this feels like a horrible nightmare. When the hell did things get so bad for him? Who let things get this bad? Is he at fault—? Like, geeze— he always knew something felt awry with the kid (and that’s half the issue, isn’t it? He’s not just a sweet little kid with simple lil’ problems anymore, and in many ways he never was), but should he have said something? Confronted him about it? Told his guardians about his concerns, privacy be damned?

He grits his teeth as he muddles over all the infinite complexities of this problem.

Ugh.

What if, what if, what if.

It’s all useless conjecture.

The bottom line is, Steven doesn’t deserve any of this. Not then, not now, not ever. He shouldn’t have to be dealing with any of these horrid, horrid thoughts. Stars, if anything had happened to him— if he actually did follow through with his plan, then—

Lars drops his head against the door panel, doing everything within his power to will the thought to evaporate from his mind.

No.

No…

He doesn’t even want to consider that possibility. Steven’s like a brother to him at this point. It’s not gonna happen. Not now, not ever. Not on his watch.

He’s not sure how yet, but he’ll make damn sure of it.

…

Once he’s cooled himself down, Lars returns to his quarters with a couple of blankets in hand.

Upon passing through the doorframe, he’s met with a somewhat reassuring sight: Steven already sound asleep on his ratty old couch, curled up against the armrest and snoring softly. Heh. He sure doesn’t blame him for tuckering out so soon. Poor guy must’ve been exhausted after such a rigorous emotional outpouring. Moving with calm intent so as not to disturb him, he quickly lays the blankets across his slumbering form before retreating to the far wall to keep watch for the night. He stretches back against the metallic panel, inhaling as deep as he can muster to erase the quavering tension staining his countenance.

Standing vigil over a soul in need… just in case.

#su #su future #lars barriga #steven universe #padparadscha #su fanfiction #my writing stuff

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stygiansun-totaleclipse · 8 months ago

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Patreon is live~! ✨✨

A short story, two finished RO designs, and sketch WIPs are posted!

I've decided to set up a Patreon where I'll post access to early updates, dev logs, sneak peeks, exclusive and early-access illustrations/character designs, and short monthly POV stories (with more benefits to come!).

Access them here or search FenofCattails on Patreon.

I am currently working on secondary character designs for each of the ROs featuring them in their formal wear! Here's a peek at Samira's and Aurynn's designs. They are currently available to the Retainer tier and above. I have the rest of the ROs' sketch WIPs posted to all paid tiers.

I also have a short POV story (1,434 words) that is available to the Demiblood tier, featuring Kieran, Lilith/Lucien, and Aurynn!

I have plans for further benefits once I figure out the pacing of everything--I have some fun stuff planned, like interactive mini-games featuring MC and other characters (like flashbacks with Luca and MC's siblings, POV interactions with MC, etc), short comics, themed illustrations/doodles, character designs for MC's siblings, and more! ✨

Thanks so much for all the support and love people have shown the demo so far, and thanks so much for your consideration in supporting me! ❤️🙏

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳) / づ♡ Have a wonderful day!! ❤️🐛

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charleslelurk · 6 months ago

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2024 AO3 Wrapped

I was tagged by @landinrris! Thank you 💕

January to December 2024

Works Published: 21 (but one is a secondary posting of another fic because I published it as originally intended and then also in chronological order because the scenes skip around in the timeline)

Comment Threads: 276

Word Count: 280,253 (but really 240k because of that double posted fic)

I am only going to include F1 fics for these categories since that's all I write now, but my F1 AU I posted early in 2024 for another fandom does take some of these accolades

Top 3 kudos fics

🏆 - Drunk Myself Down (ok wait I didn't realize this until now and literally how is a one non smut shot my most kudosed fic, slay)

🥈 - Erosion

🥉 - Death Bloom (alright, guess we're all freaks) (jk this fic isn't even that bad in the grand scheme of fic)

Top word count

🏆 - Erosion

🥈 - Borderline of a Bad Idea (lmao not my current chaptered WIP where they only just got together being my second highest word count)

🥉 - In the Silences

Top ships

🏆 Carlando (10) My main brainworms for months, and will continue to be I'm sure

🥈 Lestappen (3) I will write more of them... someday...

TIED WITH

🥈 Charlos (3) oh Ferrari divorce, how you have moved me

Top 3 tags

🏆 Anal Sex (give it up for anal sex! goddamn someone sedate me for this being my NUMBER ONE, take me out back and SHOOT me)

🥈 Angst (and there it is, never under estimate my ability to make everything angst)

🥉 Anal Fingering (fuck me, I guess I did write a shit ton of Carlando smut one shots this year)

Tagging: @toppamplemousse, @bumblewyn, and @wedriftlikelonelyplanets

Tag all your favourite F1 RPF author accounts and let’s share and celebrate our achievements this year! ✍🏼🧡👇🏼

#this was so fun #i dont look at my stats much so i actually learned so much during this #like HOW is drunk myself down my most kudosed fic #damn #that was also my FIRST f1 fic #WILD #my fic #tag game

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ninja-muse · 2 months ago

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Well, April's over. It's been a pretty decent reading month, though even with unexpected travel and several days of mostly sitting, I didn't do as well in terms of numbers as I thought I would. Only 9 books plus a reread. I wasted a day and a bit on a DNF, though, and I know that The Bookman and Inkheart both took me a while, though for very different reasons. (Y'all can probably skip that first one.)

The first book I finished was Upon a Starlit Tide by Kell Woods, and I kept meaning to review it along with Hot Wax, but never quite got around to it. Please know that it's well worth reading and if you like fairy tale retellings and remixes, you should pick it up. It was lovely and I liked it quite a bit better than After the Forest.

Other highlights of the month include The Tomb of Dragons, obviously, but also Murder by Memory which was very fun and I need more in that world yesterday. I blew through both the new Vera Wong book and Wooing the Witch Queen because apparently I will read romantasy when it's a straight-up rom-com, rather than a bunch of tortured love interests and drama. (That said, stay tuned. I've got one of those on my TBR for the year too.)

The rest of my reading was pretty average. I liked the books; I don't know if I'd necessarily recommend them to anyone who's not already into those genres. A little too tell-y, on the historical fiction front. The sort of travel memoir that's light and entertaining, but doesn't necessarily scratch my itch for introspection. That sort of thing.

And as you can tell, my library pulled through in a big way! I am using Libby a lot these days, and it'll be interesting to see what my year-end stats look like, in terms of physical books vs. digital.

Three books hauled: two from a used bookstore again, and another that arrived damaged at work and which I'm not allowed to read until I get my current WIP into its final shape, alas. I've unhauled quite a bit, though! But not taken the books down to a used bookstore or somewhere. There's maybe 15 books outgoing, and I got rid of a handful of reading copies because I'd been sitting on them for over a year and clearly hadn't gotten around to them. So that sort of balances out how many books and ARCs I've hauled this year? Or at least, so I tell myself.

And that's pretty much my April. Who knows what May will bring?

And now, the usual list of books read, in order of how glad I was to have read them…

Hot Wax - M.L. Rio

In 1989, eleven-year-old Suzanne went on tour with her dad’s band. In 2018, she’s on the road again—fleeing her life. Out in September.

8.5/10

Cuban-American protagonist, Cuban-American secondary character, Latina secondary character, Black secondary characters, 🏳️‍🌈 protagonist (bi woman), 🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (multisexual, poly)

reading copy

Upon a Starlit Tide - Kell Woods

Luce chafes at her constrained life in Bretagne, finding herself torn between loves—the smuggler, the merchant’s son, her family, the sea, freedom.

8/10

protagonist with foot deformities and chronic pain

warning: misogyny

library book

The Tomb of Dragons - Katherine Addison

Thara Celehar is at a bit of a loose end, but keeping busy thanks to the Archprelate. Finding a new path is tricky, but he's learning he has friends.

🏳️‍🌈 protagonist (gay)

off my TBR

Murder by Memory - Olivia Waite

Dorothy Gentleman finds herself in a strange body, on a drunken generation ship, investigating a murder.

7.5/10

🏳️‍🌈 main character (sapphic), 🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (sapphic, achillean), 🏳️‍🌈 author

library ebook

Vera Wong’s Guide to Snooping (on a Dead Man) - Jesse Q. Sutanto

Vera’s sworn off investigating but can’t quite help herself when she spots a young woman looking nervous outside a police station.

7/10

Chinese-American protagonist; Chinese, Chinese-American, Indonesian, Indonesian-American, Latino, Latina, South Asian, and Black secondary characters; Chinese-Indonesian author

warning: abuse, child abuse, human trafficking

library ebook

Wooing the Witch Queen - Stephanie Burgis

Queen Saskia is fiercely holding her kingdom against invasion. Felix is too desperate for sanctuary to confess he’s neither a dark wizard nor a librarian, but actually the supposed invader.

7/10

🏳️‍🌈 main character (bi woman), 🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (sapphic, lesbian), secondary character of colour

warning: past child abuse, past death of parents

Beauty Tips from Moose Jaw - Will Ferguson

A tongue-in-cheek travelogue investigating the true Canada.

6.5/10

Japanese and Japanese-Canadian “secondary characters”, 🇨🇦

library ebook

The Boxcar Librarian - Brianna Labuskes

The lives of a girl raised by a mining unionist, a sheltered librarian, and a New Deal editor are connected when the editor arrives in Montana to sleuth out a missing submission. Does it have to do with the local Copper Kings, or is it something else?

6.5/10

🏳️‍🌈 POV character (multisexual), 🏳️‍🌈 author

library ebook

Austen at Sea - Natalie Jenner

Two sisters and two brothers set off for England with invitations from Jane Austen’s brother. The journey will upend all their lives. Out in May.

6.5/10

🇨🇦

warning: period-typical misogyny

reading copy

The Bookman - Lavie Tidhar

In a steampunk London ruled by reptilians, the novice poet Orphan seeks the terrorist Bookman after his fiancée is killed by a book-bomb.

6/10

Sioux-British protagonist, Indian secondary character

off my TBR

Picture Books

I am NOT a Vampire - Miles McKenna

Arlo is the odd one out in a family of vampires. He’s trying really hard to grow fangs and everything. Will the Blood Moon finally do the trick? Out in May.

🏳️‍🌈 author

Reread

Inkheart - Cornelia Funke

When the strange Dustfinger comes with a warning about a man named Capricorn, Meggie and her father Mo flee to Italy, to hide a book that both other men want for their own ends.

7.5/10

Arab secondary character

off my TBR

DNF

Night Film - Marisha Pessl

A down-on-his-luck journalist finds a renewed purpose when the daughter of a cult horror auteur is found dead.

library ebook

Currently reading

Once Was Willem - M.R. Carey

Willem tells of the tale of his second life and the village he comes from—one which has hosted shapeshifters, magicians, robber barons, curses, and worse.

library ebook

An African History of Africa - Zeinab Badawi

A history of Africa before colonisation, centering African perspectives and academics.

Sudanese author

library book

The Penguin Complete Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle

Victorian detective stories

disabled POV character (limb injury), occasional Indian secondary characters

warning: racism, colonialism

Monthly total: 9 + 1 + 1 Yearly total: 38 Queer books: 5 Authors of colour: 1 Books by women: 8 + 1 Authors outside the binary: 0 Canadian authors: 2 Classics: 0 Off the TBR shelves: 3 Books hauled: 3 ARCs acquired: 3 ARCs unhauled: 8 DNFs: 1

January February March

#books #booklr #book reviews #reading wrap-ups #my photos #book recommendations #read in 2025 #rec lists

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