#ill see if the library has some copies

[irl]

The Locked Tomb is as-yet-unfinished quadrology of novels that crib from sci-fi, fantasy, horror and jrpgs. It starts with a locked room murder mystery about two codependent teenage girls that grew up in a necromantic bone cult and are recruited to attempt to become the God-Emperor's new supersoldiers. They are beautifully written, very funny, tragic, grotesque, and insanely, deeply, intrinsically queer. But yeah for sure we can kiss

😳😳😳🫢🫢🫢 woa…… bro…. staring deeply n2 ur eyes….

but for real ! that sounds so cool i think ill have to check it out sometime

[demadogs]

rereading carry on has temporarily healed me from my byler depression

[foxgloveprincess]

Pairing: Andy Barber x Female Reader [Second Person Narrator]

Summary: You’re getting over your illness, but, then, there’s still Andy.

Word Count: 2,034

Attic Wives Anonymous Masterlist

Warnings: Dark, Dub Con (Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex), Manhandling, Slapping, Biting, Scratching, mild Blood, implied Kidnapping, Basement Wife Trope, Possessiveness, Illness (recovery), Swearing/Cursing, Pet Names (honey, sweetheart, etc.). Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for far too long. Hope ya’ll enjoy!

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. However, I give no permission to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work on any third party website or app. Seeing my work posted anywhere beside my blog, my library blog, or my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess) means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

I don’t do tag lists, so follow @foxglovefics to sign up for notifications on my fics. 

This is unBeta’d, so all mistakes are my own.

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!

“Your lymph nodes certainly seem to be doing better,” the doctor says, fingers gently prodding the sides of your neck. They retreat and he grabs a pen light from his pocket. “Let me see that throat, open wide, tongue out.”

You comply with the directions, letting him examine you. Rage filling your head as your eye catches the man standing in the corner with his arms crossed, keenly observant. 

“Your fever’s gone down, too?” 

“Yes,” you reply, “I’ve been a lot better the last few days.” 

The doctor smiles and presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “That’s good, very good.” After tucking away his light, he leans back in his chair to take a long look at the rest of you. “When’s the last time you had a pelvic exam?” 

“Oh.” Mildly stunned by the question, you can’t remember. Thinking hard, you begin to count back the weeks as best you can—captivity not entirely conducive with nailing down timelines. 

“Don’t even think about it, Rogers.” 

Andy steps out of the corner and puffs himself up in a challenge. Your eyes roll. Dr. Rogers stands, though, with his hands held up in surrender. 

“I’m just concerned about your wife’s health.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Andy bites back. 

The doctor packs his few things back into his bag and stands. “Whatever you say, Barber.” A smirk plucks at his lips. “But she will need to be checked eventually.”

Andy gestures toward the door, following the doctor out. You sneak toward the door, waiting until it closes to press your cheek against it. Beep, click, click, click. Just like all the other times. 

You roll your neck back and wander around your room until you find your couch once again. Flopping back, you stare at the ceiling, raising your hand to look at the diamond ring sparkling on your finger. 3 carats, and brilliant. 

The door opens and closes once again, signaling Andy’s return to the room. You don’t acknowledge him. Consumed by thoughts as your ring glints down at you. 

His footsteps approach and his hand weaves with yours. You snarl. 

“Dr. Rogers said he’s pleased with your improvement,” he says while placing a kiss to the back of your hand. You hum. Fingers bend and flex, trying to wriggle away from his grip. “He’ll keep asking about the pelvic exam, though.”

“It’s important,” you reply. 

“That’s true.” Andy releases your hand only to cup your cheeks. “But Dr. Rogers has some particular tastes when it comes to his patients.” He smiles down at you. Your eye catches the silver of the ring on his left hand. “I’m glad I could spare you from that.” 

With little thought, you snap at the hand cradling your face. He doesn’t flinch. Letting your teeth sink into the meat of his thumb. 

He hisses and drops to his knees. Breathing heavy and watching you. Your nostrils flare with renewed rage—his delusions curtailing your petty acts of vengeance. It grits against your gnarled insides. Needing to cause pain, to punish him. 

Your teeth release his flesh, indented marks throbbing red on his skin. Not enough pressure to break it—this time. 

“God, honey,” Andy sighs. “You’re so strong.” From his position on his knees, he lifts so he might level your gazes and slant his lips to yours. 

His greedy kiss consumes you. You both fight. His bid for dominance easily bowing to your fury despite his urgent hunger. You nip at his lip until you taste blood and raise your hand to collar his throat. You shove him away with both your hand and your knee, placed against his chest to keep him at bay. 

He retreats but keeps his eyes on you. You stare back, wondering how you’ve got to this point. When before he seemed so eager to control you. To sit before you, now, more eager for your disdain, simply because a ring sits on your finger. 

Your hand darts out to grasp at his fluffy hair, tilting his head to the side at an uncomfortable angle. 

“You’re only like this now because I’m your wife, aren’t you?” 

He shudders at the question. Two words in particular. His eyes shine up at you, enamored. 

“And all before you were ready to push me around, treat me like I was scum beneath your foot.” You click your teeth and toss him away from you. 

He rocks back on his legs but doesn’t fall. “You wouldn’t have me before.” His eyes stay dropped to the floor. “I had to make you see that it would be better to marry me.” 

“By taking advantage of my weakened state and your strength, by threatening me,” you spit. 

“I’ve been better now,” he counters, “since you signed our marriage certificate and it’s been made official. I’ve been better, haven’t I?”

His chest heaves with deep breaths. The glint of desire in his eye still shines bright. He restrains himself as you think. The first few buttons of his shirt hang undone, showing a peek of his white undershirt. 

“But you still won’t let me out of here,” you accuse. 

“No.” 

Watching him watch you, wait for you, you think it might not be so bad. To have the plentiful opportunities to grind him down. Until he’s just like the husk you became down in that basement. Until he begs for your mercy. You sneer and cross your legs. 

“Fuck you,” you bite. “You stole me from my life on a whim.” You scoff and roll your eyes. “You don’t even care about me, just the idea you have of your perfect wife.” 

“You’re my perfect wife.” 

The slap rings loud in the quiet room. Both of you shocked by the impact of your hand against his cheek. 

Andy blinks, eyes blowing out with lust. You swallow down trepidation but keep the steely look of contempt on your face. You stand, towering over him. 

“You’re pathetic,” you say, every ounce of disdain and disgust lacing the words. 

A dark look, born of frustration rather than lust, washes over his features. He meets your eye with a scowl. 

“No, I’m not.” 

You scoff and turn away from him. Walking toward your bathroom, just to put a door between you and the electric current of hatred that tickles at your core. You’ve had enough. 

Your hand falls to the doorknob, turning it to unlatch the bathroom door, but hands land on you first. Spinning you and pinning your body to the wood. 

“Don’t walk away from me,” he demands, but through his bark, you see his desperation. Your eyes cleared from their fear to see the pitiful man to whom you’re legally bound. The challenge he sets stirring something more than hatred in you. 

“Fuck yo—”

He cuts you off with a kiss, hands grasping at the side of your head to keep you in place. You grab at the front of his shirt, clawing across his chest. Buttons pop open. More of his undershirt revealed. Your fingers bunch and tear at the fabric. A fight between you two. You grunt against his mouth, your kiss all teeth and tongue. Sloppy and frantic and combative. 

He trails his lips down your neck, lowering to his knees. Your hands sink into his hair, hoping to keep him from his goal. But once set on it, he won’t be deterred. He lunges for your thighs, slotting his shoulders between them and forcing you into a lean. 

He rips at your clothes, not in anger but passion. One moment too long to keep him from you. 

Standing bare from the waist down, you continue to push him away. Lifting your knee to knock him aside, but he simply clings to it. Under his strength, you’re pinned to the door and open before him to sup. 

“Andy,” you protest, hands pushing at his forehead, “jeez, just stop it.”

His tongue swipes through your folds. Your breath hitches and he hears it, the vibrations of his chuckle rolling against you. He peeks up from between your thighs. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” he says, not sorry at all, “I can’t help it.” Another swipe and flick to your clit. His fingers pet your folds, parting them for easier access to the most sensitive parts of you. “Let me make you feel good.” 

You can’t surrender now, not when he wants it. Even when he does that thing with his tongue that makes your toes curl and his beard scratches just right on your upper thighs. You grit your teeth. No, no way can you let him know how he affects you. His fingers and tongue work in tandem to bring you over the edge, your legs trembling under your weight and threatening to collapse. Your nails bite into his scalp. He flinches with the pain, but continues his pursuit again and again. 

His body and the door are all that keep you standing. Your legs jelly from the endorphin rush of multiple orgasms, flesh tender and overstimulated. Though, that does not mean your so-called husband is done with you. 

He tugs and pushes you to your bed, messing your sheets with the flop of your body. Rushing with the aftershocks of your high and boneless upon the sheets. 

While you languish in your sweat and the stickiness between your thighs, he strips. His button down and undershirt revealing the sculpted planes of his flesh. Kept up by a daily routine at the pool, his skin always smelling faintly of chlorine when he sees you in the evenings. Then his trousers. Pushed from his legs with his boxers to let his cock bob hard and leaking in the open air. 

Your lungs fill with air. Casting your gaze aside, refusing to give his delectable body one more moment of admiration. He knows how good he looks. You won’t pay him the compliment. 

“Come here, sweetheart,” he says, gathering you in his arms and positioning himself over you. Face to face. 

You huff a frustrated breath, but can’t find the strength to fight back. Not when you know how well his cock stretches you and makes you cum. It’s a perk you’ll be sore to miss once you get away from him. 

His cock slides in, too easily if anyone asked you. Then again, he made it his mission to have you cum on his tongue until you were dripping. You can’t entirely be blamed. 

The thrust of his hips fills you, a steady pace not too frantic or lazy. Just right to drag you to the edge of another climax. He moans in your ear, fingers digging into your hip and the bed’s duvet. 

Your muscles tense, waiting for that moment of release. Building and building inside you. Your nails sink into the skin of his back, scratching down. His hips jerk out of rhythm and he pants, stalling for a moment. 

“You can’t just do that to me, honey.” His eyes catch yours, adoration shining at you. “You gotta warn me if you wanna leave your mark. You know how much I love it.” 

You growl and glare, but he remains unfazed by it. He leans in to kiss you, a sweet peck accompanied by a dirty grind of his hips. You bite in response. Tasting blood on your tongue. His lip split beneath your teeth. 

He moans and bucks against you. Thrusting with need. You bite your own lip to stifle the moans of pleasure clawing up your throat. You break, shatter, keening a cry ripped from your chest. He cums a moment later with a shout and pulls out, splattering the folds of your sex with his spend. 

Your chests heave with your deep breaths, lungs expanding. Andy falls away from you and onto his back. Hand reaching up to comb through his hair. He licks his lip with a smirk. 

“You like marking me up, don’t you?” You don’t reply. Feigning the inability to form words. But, really, unsure whether the pleasure of punishing him mutates in the brief moments of bliss into something primal, claiming. It’s in these quiet moments of terror and receding pleasure where you wonder and dread.

[addicsvt]

Who are you, really?

" また桜が咲くまで待ちます。"

pairing - stranger sunghoon x stranger reader genre - minimal fluff + slight angst word count - 543 warnings - none atm synopsis - "why do you stay in my mind?" a/n - saw these pics on my pinterest and i had to do somethin, first time writing enha!!! also new layout??? how r we feeling

[ 見知らぬ人 ] ⤷ a stranger "good things happen when the cherry blossoms fall"

sunghoon wakes up, as he always does. the sky paints its usual blue shade, the streets are crowded with people, and the cherry blossoms have bloomed. he opens his window, careful to not swing it too hard. he sticks his palm out hoping to catch the flowers, he looks outside only to be met with your eyes from below. 

the eye contact doesn't last long, a millisecond at most. but sunghoon feels different, his sleepy state now replaced with an energetic one. he has to forget about this, about you, about whatever that encounter was.

he washes up a bit quicker than usual, grabbing the onigiri that rested on the table. tuna-mayo. he leaves the house making sure to lock the door before he heads on his usual train. his phone makes a buzzing notification as he takes it out of his pocket looking at it absentmindedly. 

"yaa! sunghoon-kun, takashi san is rambling my ear off about your late attendance again, i'm covering for you this time. your lucky im your friend." he reads, eyes tracing the paragraph. geez, he shouldn't have to come to school if only, he knew that his friend covered for him sooner.

"mk, see u at the new cafe? I'll treat you to pancakes" he responds, placing his phone back in his pocket as he arrives on the campus. he rubs his temples deciding to reside in his favorite library instead. 

he sets his bag on the chair beside him, walking to the shelves trying to find the latest chapter of a manga he has been reading. and soon enough his eyes take note of the manga, the last copy, he reaches a hand out to grab it before he feels another force tugging it. 

"oh," was all that could leave his mouth as his grip loosened on the book meeting your eyes. 

"were you getting this?" you muttered feeling exposed under his gaze, feeling as if you committed a crime.

"uhm yeah, I've been reading this, you can take it though, ill find it somewhere else." he blabbers before realizing how stupid he is, this is the only library that has this copy. and he's giving it to some random stranger. 

"but this is the only store that has it, at least in Osaka?" you point out making him look even stupider, sunghoon feels his cheeks on fire. 

"ah, erm, I-" he mumbles trying to collect himself but it's a useless attempt. he has never felt this weak, this embarrassed before. he considers himself cool, collected, and peaceful even. but he probably has to reconsider that. 

Why did you have to look like that?? if you never stared at him like that he would've never messed up. he murmurs some excuse as he grabs his backpack leaving the library, his second home. how could he let a stranger take over his life? 

that night, he doesn't sleep at all. he's twisting and turning, he knows he has seen you before. think, think, think. he tries to remember, getting frustrated with himself. he decides to forget about this day, whatever this was. but he can't forget, a part of you still lingers in his mind. but he's too afraid to admit that, afterall he's always been a coward.

ADDICSVT 2024

[obeymeluv]

Quick! Kiss Me! [Part 4: Leviathan]

I'm back. Let me know if the story is cohesive. It tried to copy itself more than once. I just killed the post and redid it. It was weird.

Note: I’ve taken some liberties with whether or not the boys have a “true” demon form. I personally believe that the in-game form we see is the one that’s easiest for humans to see/reason with/tolerate. I don’t think that’s their real demon form. I believe their true forms would be more monstrous and maybe have more traits in common with their symbolic animal. Another personal headcanon: Levi’s giant-ass aquarium isn’t confined to the back wall of his room. I think it can actually span at least two sides of the house and they just panel over it because he doesn’t want to be seen when he swims. So between layers of dry wall and such, there’s his aquarium. It’s like his secret little tunnel around the house that has several exits but he prefers the one in his room (which is why he made that room HIS room when they first moved into the House of Lamentation).

Side note: for my personal use, I headcanon the library as Lucifer’s study. He just kind of has this…pocket dimension made for himself in there. The brothers can find it if he allows it. Sometimes he’ll throw magic around it to disguise it. You have to go through the library to get to it. Anyways, onto the story. This one may not be as long as the others. We’ll see where it goes

Leviathan:

You’d made several laps around the House of Lamentation. The dizzying, bubbly feeling had yet to return. It was like a tease, lasting for a pulse or two in certain rooms and then fleeing as quick as it came. Everything else was a dull buzz, cold bubbles in your chest. After your last lap you stopped in the kitchen for a drink of water—soon after remembering you couldn’t currently open your mouth—and locked eyes with Beel. A displeased fizzle shot through you; your mouth suddenly dry for another reason.

That was an unexpected sign but it was a reaction. Maybe you just needed to go look at the other brothers to figure out who DIDN’T give you that feeling?! Beel’s purple eyes flicked over your locked lips; he smothered a hum with a bite of pastry. He seemed to sense he wasn’t the one for you. “Lucifer’s in his study if you want to try him next.”

The tip was appreciated but the walk was not. Each step towards the eldest’s study sent a wave of stomach-churning nausea through you. It was like the ultimate gut feeling of ‘turn back!’, your stomach so sour it felt like it was curling in on itself. Unable to stand the tartness prickling on your tongue or the sweat beading on your brow, you bolted away from the shimmering door and past rows of books to find reprieve down the hall. Not Lucifer, you thought to yourself, doubled over with your hands on your knees as if that would help all the acid yuck drain away from your chest and mouth, not Lucifer.

Something cold touched the back of your neck and you snapped up, wincing at a pinch going through your lower back. The yelp failed to break past your lips, your brain switched gears to help you exhale the nervous energy through your nose as Satan registered in your periphery. His brow creased apologetically, squishing a damp cloth against the back of your neck gingerly. “You seemed ill. I was trying to help.” he dabbed at your neck and traced the curve of your cheek with the cloth, green eyes watching the flush fade from your neck.

You must’ve run right by him in the library and not even realized it.

The cloth was a simple, well-meaning gesture between friends, you both knew that. You got the feeling he’d been reading his romance books again, maybe questioning how a small moment like this could be what lovers immortalized and built a life on. How did clichés like this become addictive classics? You felt pondered and marveled but not revered, a bit like how Jane first looks at the sketch of Tarzan at the camp. “Your love lies elsewhere, I think.” Satan murmured, perhaps to both you and himself, as he deemed you healthy enough to go to the second floor and find whoever was meant to undo the cosmetic chaos.

The squeak of the last step died in your ear as a white-hot knowing consumed you. It silenced everything else around you, throwing you into a tunnel that ended at Leviathan’s door. You’d almost felt like you’d teleported, not totally sure how you knew to go to his door instead of the others. No bubbles, no acid—his doorknob felt strangely cool and comforting in your hand.

Your nerves settled.

The door opened into a room washed in blues; the air was a little cooler here but not damp. If not for the bioluminescent life in his large aquarium, the room would be pitch black. There was no Levi, no anime running, no controllers clicking….nothing. Large swaths of kelp danced at the edges of the tank, framing the open water quite beautifully. A tiny bottom-feeder fish sucked at the base of seaweed clusters, scaring a Cerith snail back into their shell when it nudged a rock in its direction.

You forgot how much of a labor of love this aquarium was. Levi put a lot of time into it between the physical cleaning and the species research. Placing your palms on the glass wasn’t enough to sate the desire to just…sink through it and bob in the water. Maybe it could wash off the makeup? A trio of Devildom teacup jellies twinkled as if to invite you in.

A longing drummed painfully in your chest, just shy of feeling like an open wound. It was like a tender crack in your very being. Levi’s mark glowed on your body, casting a dim yellow light against the glass. Something large and dark cut through the expanse, stirring up a layer of dirt and whipping the smaller creatures around in their own little maelstrom. Pebbles clinked against the glass as the creature folded itself around to press against the glass.

Levi?! You’d be lying if you said your legs didn’t turn to jelly as the sediment haze cleared to reveal a towering serpentine creature with Levi’s face. His tail was long and smooth, glistening onyx scales tapering into a barbed point hemmed by fluttering webbing on either side. The scales at his hips were drop-like and had more color variation; shades of gray decorated him and crept up to his navel. Something quill-like jutted out from his hips; they flexed in the water and you wondered if they acted like sensors. They looked awfully sharp

His chest was largely unchanged, still pale and lean. It was both a small comfort and a large contrast to how mottled and dark his arms were. The diamond pattern on the left side of his neck wound down his arm, obscuring where hand met claw. Those were most definitely claws now; they couldn’t even pass for fingers. Leviathan’s right arm wasn’t as dominated by the diamond pattern but the hands matched.

Levi’s shoulders were capped in scales almost like a defense mechanism. His face was the same, save for his eyes and little markings under them that reminded you of his branching coral horns. Diamond pupils dilated as he sank down to see you face-to-face, pushing the haunting gold of his iris to near nothingness. Can you see me? You’re not saying anything back.

I see you, Levi finally answered, his voice surprisingly measured and serene despite his…feral-looking appearance. His lips puckered almost bashfully as he turned his face away slightly, pupil shrinking back to a normal slit as he bobbed in front of you. He eyed you intently, like a predator does its prey. A large fang slipped past the pucker of his lips, but just for a second. You almost thought you’d dreamt it.

Why do you need me? his tail flailed almost impatiently, maybe angrily. You lookin’ for one of those normies? He buried his claws in the bottom of the aquarium, scratching through the rocks and fighting off envious urges to strangle that he’d never really go through with. The quills at his hips flared and went rigid. Levi swung his torso back carefully, withdrawing spines from the nearby kelp and assessing the plant delicately.

Acid began to build up in your chest and you wondered if this is what his envy felt like manifested.

No, you answered quietly, I’m looking for you.

Your lips are still sealed shut?! Levi could’ve knot his tail in disbelief, appendage coiling and uncoiling wildly at the prospect of you still being unclaimed. He hated this form of his—his true form—it left him with enough consciousness to know he was more devil than human, more instinct than logic.

More selfish than he cared to admit, too.

You kissed the tank to prove your point, feeling like your words would be lost on him. When Levi was in one of his moods—which he was—words did little to sway him. He needed actions when he was that far gone. Leviathan surged forward with great interest, gills at his neck fluttering and quills quivering as he looked at the glossy print. Will you kiss me, Leviathan?

Kiss you? Leviathan pursed his lips to suffocate his eager words, I would do more than kiss you. I would give you the sunrise, all of the sea’s riches, and my soul, itself, if you let me. The gross normie within him was simply bursting at the seams to give you the most epic romantic monologue guaranteed to boost your companion level at least ten points. Yeah, maybe some of that was ripped off from different animes but you would never know. Only his most favorite parts for you.

He pushed himself towards the top of the tank, tail boosting him up with little effort. A clawed hand breached the water, sending some kind of plug-like panel tumbling off to the side to land somewhere in his room. “You’ll need the chair,” Levi’s voice was whispery and melodious; you felt drawn in and almost mindless as you jammed the chair against the tank and stood up carefully. One arm on the rim of the tank, Levi held his breath and resisted the urge to snatch you up before his gills protested the lack of water.

His claws cut through the material of your shirt whether he wanted them to or not, Levi cringing at the sound of threads snapping. Your skin felt warm against the scales on his hands; his tongue flicked out from between his fangs. You were none the wiser, of course, facing away from him and now hanging obediently on the edge of the tank as he left to grab an herb that could help you breathe underwater. You went to bite the herb as he presented it to you but Levi hissed reflexively, a sound of warning as his fork tongue seemed to point at you in admonishment.

The herb was wrapped around your neck like a scarf. You winced and yelped as something jabbed into your neck. Satisfied, Levi took your hand as gently as possible and began to swim down. Your struggle was mindless and instinctual; Levi would be lying if he said it didn’t rouse something primal in him. Undeterred, he swam down into a patch of kelp, tail coiling around you and drawing you further into his chest.

You panicked and pushed against his chest and…breathed? The pressure of the water didn’t exist; your chest wasn’t burning for air. Those plant spines help you breathe under water. They’re like shunts for airflow. If you take them out, you won’t be able to breathe. Levi’s hands ghosted down your arms, claws hooking in a piece of your hair. He flinched, too scared to untangle himself.

I’d rather you help me breathe, you smiled brightly at him. Playfully.

He gurgled embarrassingly, his gills tensing open before resuming their fluttering. His cheeks tinged with color. You thought he’d throw you away in his embarrassment but his tail operated on truer feelings because he drew you closer. Leviathan’s kiss was shy but unmoving. You felt your mouth open up and it was the best breath you’d ever taken (even if you were under water).

A small current stirred the water around you, barely masking the sound of bones crackling. You watched the scales disappear under Leviathan’s skin, his normal tone returning as his tail shortened and split back into two human legs. Fins fell off, webbing retreating back into normal skin as the claws splintered away into human-ish nails. Veins tensed in his neck as his teeth resumed their normal form and his gills flattened back into regular skin. “There,” Leviathan hmph’ed, “Happy now?”

He tried to make it seem like a big chore but his cheeks were pinker than yours and his tail was wagging excitedly.

“Very.” You grinned. Now that you could breathe normally you felt a bit cold. The plant scarf may help you breathe in water but it didn’t make the saltwater sting any less or keep you warm. “Want to get out and dry off?”

You wouldn’t mind getting something to eat, either. It was a reflex to grab the lip of the aquarium and try to climb out Outside was waiting and you’d be warm, dry, and get food!

“Wait!” Leviathan fumbled as he wrapped his arms around you and yanked you back in. “You’ll suffocate!” he protested. If the weight of the scarf didn’t make things difficult, the lack of air would. He pressed you against a corner of the aquarium, nudging your arm over the lip as he kept the two of you afloat with his tail. You bobbed against each other, his hair dripping water into your eyes as he worked carefully to unwind the scarf.

The kelp scarf acted as a filter and was separate from the spines, you found out. Leviathan murmured the number of spines, turning your chin this way and that to look at them, careful not to bump them with his knuckles. He pinched your cheeks gently, anything he could think of to distract you from the bite of plucked spines. The two of you laughed between pinches of pain. It was cute in its own way.

“Hey! It’s just supposed to be a kiss! And none of those look like they’re on the lip! Look at you, dirty, dirty Levi!” Asmo laughed brightly from the doorway.

“It’s not--! They’re not--! Some normie like you isn’t gonna make fun of me like that!” Leviathan’s face grew redder and redder as he realized the spines left little red blossoms across your neck. Someone like Asmo WOULD mistake them for hickies! He hissed, launching himself out of the water with his tail. Asmo yelped as Leviathan snaked across his bedroom, slippery and ferocious. It reminded you that you were living in a house of people pretending to be human.

The pair collided and all you heard was:

“Don’t you spit poison at me! You didn’t know you had it until I showed you!”

“Keep talking and I’ll squeeze you.”

“You think that’ll do anything? I get choked on a regular—“

“UGH! STOP! WHY DO PEOPLE THINK OTAKUS ARE GROSS AND DIRTY? YOU’RE WORSE!”

“Yeah, but I’m cute—AHH! RUDE!”

“Did you just throw Asmo out of your room?” You leaned out of the tank, trying to plan your fall into the chair. Leviathan’s tail was still thrashing wildly, coiling and uncoiling.

“He deserved it!” Leviathan hissed, words cut by large, glinting fangs. He threw his back into the door, flicking the lock in place as Asmo kicked and yelled on the other side. Leviathan willed himself to ignore the noise in the hall and beyond, heart slamming in his chest and his ears as he looked at how small, pitiful, and wet you looked.

Humans need to stay warm, the thought kicked him into motion. He scrounged up dry clothes and tucked himself bashfully in the corner as you changed. “You want to watch some anime? Or a movie?” Leviathan thumbed the sticks on his controller as he slid into his bathtub bed. Only his hair was wet; you figured his serpentine skin just soaked up the excess water.

“Sure,” you’d just figured out how to get into the tub without pulling a muscle or falling in when Lucifer blew through the door like Leviathan never locked it. It startled you into the tub and you collapsed on top of him with a little apology.

“You know what you did,” Lucifer looked very menacing, staring down at the two of you. His feathers were bristled. He balanced a plastic cup on the rim of the tub. “If you don’t do it, I will.”

Leviathan started to protest out of reflex and Lucifer took the opportunity to grab the third-eldest by his purple hair and make him bite down on the cup. You watched in confused awe as Leviathan’s fangs hooked the cup and began to drip a strange liquid. He tried to wrestle his mouth off the cup but Lucifer kept his grip and pushed the cup into some sort of gland. “Demons with serpentine lineage must submit poison samples when an incident occurs to keep their strain on file. You know this, Levi.”       

Seems Leviathan had a history of spitting poison at people? Interesting.

Lucifer released him with a click of the tongue, satisfied. He pulled a wrapped popsicle out of his pocket and held it out to his younger brother like an olive branch. Leviathan took it with a scowl, squeezing it from the bottom so it popped out into his mouth. “No kissing for at least an hour,” Lucifer looked at the two of you sternly, “he needs time to neutralize his own poison.”

Was that what the popsicle was for, to dilute his own poison? Or maybe getting poison fangs hurt demons since they retract? Hell, Lucifer probably hurt his mouth with the cup. You both stayed quiet as he left, glad he shut the door behind him. Leviathan used the popsicle as a reason to stay quiet, turning on a random anime instead.

You leaned against his chest as the exhaustion of walking and swimming took over you. Your consciousness started to fade against the sound of a purr rumbling in Leviathan’s chest, just vaguely aware of his tail weaving itself around your leg. “Best ending unlocked,” Leviathan whispered excitedly to himself, panicking soon after as he tried to make sure the popsicle didn’t get in your hair.

[cherhys]

Colliding Visions

Rhysand x Reader 

Summary: With a publication hopefully on the way, you are eager to return to your work in the library's lower levels. Only, it seems someone found your work first and had some edits to make.

Word count: 2.2k

Notes: This is my first written piece on here! I’ve been lurking in the community for a long time but I finally decided to join the party. Let me know what you think (I’m so nervy)! ♡ 

Your evening trek down to the library is as quiet as ever. Even the usual shuffling of papers and shifting of robes is absent as you trudge further down. It’s only in the depths of the library, far away from any wandering priestesses, that you find peace to further your research on the cosmos. You only recently moved to the Night Court in order to be closer to the source of your studies. With a hopeful publication lined up, your research is more critical than ever–you’re eager to transcribe your work from your brainstorming chalkboard. 

The light dust in the air has you sneezing, particularly sensitive after a recent illness. All the more reason for you to return to your work as soon as you can. You quicken your steps down the aisles, the light clicking of your heeled boots the only sound. You’re sure the study nook has gathered dust, but nothing a quick sweep won’t fix. 

Only, as you approach your secret working space you see that where you expected dust, there is none. Instead, what was once a beautiful amalgamation of all your thoughts, dutifully coordinated in different colours and symbols, has been altered into some unreadable jumble of who knows what. Your colour scheme? Gone. Your legend? Non-existent. Not to mention all your formulaic theories on the projected collision of stars? Re-written, crossed out, and vandalized. 

The rapid beating of your heart matches the rush of blood in your head. This is months of work, scribbled and desecrated. Sure, you have paper copies but nothing that was as seamlessly organized and so thoroughly encapsulated your thoughts. Oh, Cauldron you were going to be sick. You place a hand on the bookshelf to steady your suddenly weak knees–how could someone think they have the agency to destroy your work?  The arrogance, the– the–

In your frantic state, you don’t even process the figure standing before your (ruined) work, red chalk in hand, until he begins to scratch at the board.

“What,” Cauldron, your vision is as red as that chalk, “do you think you’re doing?”

His head snaps over to you, and the male blinks a few times as if he too, was so engrossed in the work on the chalkboard that he failed to notice your approach. Quickly he straightens up, and his figure is now all the more imposing. His shoulders are broad, and intricate dark swirls peek over the edge of his loose shirt. Violet eyes—not unlike the very night sky you study—are wide as saucers, perched above perfectly plump lips in the shape of an O. He’s absolutely stunning, despite the smudge of chalk on his sculpted jaw. 

“Well?” Your jaw is so tight, the grinding of your teeth could be heard in the stifling silence. 

“Oh, I- Well…” For someone who you’re sure is normally a composed male, his tan cheeks are slowly pinking. His eyes dart back and forth between you and his hand, still poised over your precious formulas. 

“You dare ruin my work, and when questioned, all you can do is stand there like some air-headed prick?” You cross your arms to prevent yourself from lunging across the short space and using the very chalk that defiled your work to show him just how pissed you were. 

“Well, ruin seems quite a stretch considering you overlooked some fundamentals that I so graciously filled in,” He gestured towards the board, demon chalk in hand. At your stunned silence, he clears his throat and plasters on an easy smile that borderlines on a wince. “See, in this particular formula–”

Is he serious?

“I beg your pardon?” Your eyes are narrow slits but you’re sure he can see the malice in them as he flinches a little at your tone. “Not only do you desecrate my work while playing scholar, but now you insult it?” The hiss of your voice echoes in the chamber and you hope it clangs around his empty skull for good measure. However, the male’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Insult? No, never–It’s quite brilliant actually.” He turns back to gaze at the chalkboard, awe clear across his face. Now it's your turn to be confused. Had he not just accused you of missing information? The retort on your tongue dies as you take in the male appreciating the theories and numbers on the board. His profile is just as stunning from the side, from the line of his aquiline nose to the elegant curl of his ridiculously long lashes. 

Fuck, if he hadn’t been so pretentious as to scribble over someone else’s work you might have been inclined to map him like the constellations you so coveted. 

With a shake of your head, you swiftly approached the male. You placed your hand over where his own hovered with the chalk before any more red monstrosities were added to the board. He peered down between lowered lashes at where your hands touched. His large hand was a warm comfort beneath your own but no matter how gorgeous this male was, his behaviour was unacceptable. 

“I have no idea what your intentions were but,” you hastily squeezed his hand, hoping to impart the seriousness of the situation to him, “This is something I have been working on for a very long time–not to mention it was publish-ready; but now?”

You let go of his hand and stumbled back a few steps to lean against the table. Your shoulders sagged under the implications of the situation, and you could do nothing but bury your face in your hands.

“Now, it’s gone. Cauldron knows how long it will take me to get it as it was.”

You knew you should’ve just transcribed the work all those weeks ago, fever or not. Illness be damned, it forced you home early and now here you were. If only you weren’t so stupid as to leave the research so vulnerable—

Those same warm hands snapped you out of your reverie as they gently settled over your own. The beautiful male stood before you, tilting your head towards him, his eyes full of sincere regret. Their violet hue sparkle with their own stars, but his remorse dampens their glow. 

“I apologize for my behaviour. I realize it was unacceptable but when I saw this impeccable research, I-” He swallows and slowly moves closer, his body bracketed by your legs, “I simply had to read it. So when I noticed something amiss, it was only natural to try and remedy it.”

His eloquent words don’t take away from the sting of their meaning–publication ready my ass. You wilted slowly, mind going blank as you try to sift over what he could possibly be referring to. Sensing your retreating thoughts he quickly tugged you off of the table.

“Here, look.” The male placed you in front of him, his hands on your shoulders as he leaned in. His breath lightly stirred your hair and had goosebumps running down your spine. His sea and citrus smell overwhelmed your senses, and was that jasmine?

Before he could continue his explanation, a priestess rounded one of the nearby bookshelves with a heavy tome in hand, “I have the book you requested High… Lord.” Her sentence tapered off as she glanced between you and the High Lord, slightly abashed at having interrupted. 

High Lord. 

You stiffened in his hold while the male–the High Lord Rhysand–smoothly regained composure as if his front hadn’t been deliciously pressed up against your back. 

“Yes, thank you, dear. You’ve been a great help.” With a winning smile that surely got him any help he wanted, Rhysand recovered the book from the priestess who quickly scurried away. 

Not one to be bothered, Rhysand turned to you with the tome in hand, displaying its title, Record of Stellar Dynamics Volume 142. 

“See, I believe that in the most recent chapter…Hmm…” He hastily sat down and flipped through the pages, eager to find what he was looking for. As he scanned the pages you followed the elegant sweep of his finger.

“I didn’t realize that the High Lord of the Night Court dabbled in such topics. I would’ve thought taxes were more your thing?” You hoped the imperious tone of your voice was enough to distract from the blush on your cheeks.

Rhysand paused his perusing, flashing you a feline grin, “Yes, I dabble as you said. Both in your field of study and ah, taxes.” Despite his cocky response, you had no doubt the dusting of pink on his cheeks matched your own. 

“Ah, so it's a private hobby then.” 

He narrowed his eyes at you, pouting slightly. 

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me High Lord.” You placed a hand over your heart for dramatic effect. 

 He scoffed and rolled his eyes, returning to the book, “Oh how encouraging. And Rhys will suffice.”

The nickname gave you pause–not High Lord or even Rhysand, but Rhys? If he wished to behave this familiar, you had no issue with that. You huffed and pointed your finger at him, unwilling to back down, “Well Rhys, High Lord or not, no tampering with my work.”

Rhys slowly rose from his seat, your gaze following up, and up to his full height. He smirks and grabs your pointing finger, only to bring your hand to his hard chest, over his heart. “Only if you ask nicely” he purrs, a devious twinkle in his eye. Ah, there are those stars. 

You quickly pull your hand back and turn away willing your heart to slow. Two can play this game. 

“And who’s to say I’d approach the likes of you, in any manner at all?” You innocently tilt your head, a coy look on your face. His eyes scanned torturously slow down your face, pausing at your lips as you held your breath. 

“You may be curious, considering the information I’ve stumbled upon may be the final piece to your research,” Flirting momentarily forgotten, your eyebrows rise in doubt. The smirk on his face grows impossibly wider, as he points to the passage in the book and a particularly red-scribbled section of the board. 

“Look at this record. When you take into account this recent gravitational event–”

“It’s different for this particular globular cluster, thus changing the formula. The stellar collisions occur at a higher frequency.” Your mouth gapes at Rhys’s discovery–how had you missed this?

“Yes!” He’s practically vibrating with energy, the smile on his face spreads so large, even the cosmos would bow before it. He’s exquisite. 

You gape back and forth between the board and the heavy tome. You wobble and his strong arms steady you. 

“Holy shit,” A giddy laugh escapes you as it begins to sink in that, not all is lost. In fact, quite the opposite. Things have never been clearer. “Holy shit!”

Rhys lets out a booming laugh that resounds in the space, your chest filling further at the lovely sound. You both stare at each other, beyond words. 

“Who would have thought the High Lord was such a nerd?” You teased, squeezing his forearms. He gently squeezed back and pulled you closer, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Only when a beautiful woman presents me with equally beautiful work,” The excitement of a few moments ago has worn off his face, replaced by something softer as he gazed at you. Your breath caught in your chest, thrown by the honest compliment.

You bit your lip, an uneasy feeling beginning to bubble in your chest, “I’m sorry for how I reacted earlier. I shouldn’t have been so presumptuous.” Rhysand vehemently shook his head, a severe look on his face. 

“You have nothing to apologize for darling. Good idea or not, I should have restrained myself,” His lips twitched, “Although it was a pretty brilliant idea.”

You smacked his forearm and was rewarded with that delightful laugh again. 

“Regardless, consider this my apology and my thanks.” Before he could settle, you surged forward and delicately kissed his plush lips. He jolted at first but slowly melted into the embrace, his calloused hands migrating up your arms to gently cup your face. His kiss was as exquisite as the rest of him, and you both pulled away hopelessly out of breath. You licked your bottom lip, savouring the delectable taste of him. His sultry eyes tracked the movement and he couldn’t resist leaning down to place another chaste but impassioned kiss on your reddened lips. 

“I may scribble on more of your work if your apologies are this delightful, darling.” He whispered against your lips, pulling away to look at you fully. He truly was the most handsome male you’ve ever beheld. The mussed raven hair and swollen lips only enhanced his beauty.

You scoffed. Cocky male. “Don’t even think about it. Although, you’ll have to increase your efforts if you’d like any more thanks.” 

That same feline grin was back to grace his features, “Then I better get to work.”

[kolsmikaelson]

hiiii! can i request conrad fisher x fem!reader headcanons? thankssss!!!

dating conrad fisher headcanons

gif is not mine. full credit to owner.

follow my library blog, @padmeslibrary , to see the rest of my works.

word count - 661 | join my taglist | warnings - fluff, fluff, fluff! mentions of his moms cancer, not proofread

a/n — i love conrad so much he has my whole heart <33. this may be ooc but oh well :).

do not copy or repost my works, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

— conrad probably saw you at a party and came up to you later that night when you first meet

— jeremiah would see him staring at you and made him go over to you

— after talking for a while he’d shyly ask for your number and is absolutely thrilled when you give it to him

— you’ll take his phone from his hands to put your information in and put your name under ‘y/n <3’

— would not change that until you’re dating and he’d probably keep it then too

— takes you to the drive in for your first date, they’re having a showing of one of your favorites and he knew he was gonna take you

— gives you his jacket to cover up if it gets cold not caring if he’s cold or not

— would hold your hand so gently as if you’d break

— lets you keep the jacket because then you’ll have a new reason to see him

— introduced you to jere and belly really soon after you get together but only because the pair walked in on the two of you kissing

— they immediately force him to let you meet his and bellys moms

— spoiler they adore you, they think you’re exactly what conrad needed to make him feel like himself again

— is always surprising you with little things that remind him of you whether it be a little necklace or something of his, but he loves seeing your face light up from it

— “wanted you to have this, it reminded me of you.” he’d have the goofiest smile when it comes to you

— doesn’t care one bit when steven or jeremiah make fun of how much he loves you

— definitely a ‘wear what you want, i can fight.” kinda boyfriend

— “baby you look so good, ‘s that what you’re wearing to the bonfire?”

— hypes you up so much !!!

— also a ‘i hate most people but definitely not you’ kind of guy

— always has to be touching you, if you’re out somewhere he’ll have an arm around you or is holding your hand

— if you’re just watching a movie on the couch he’ll have you pulled as close as possible to his side

— obsessed with calling you his angel like you came into his life at the perfect time and made his live so much better

— if you’re gonna be a part of the deb ball he’ll get you something super special to have with you throughout the night if he cant be by your side the whole time

— loves waking up next to you, enjoys the fact that you’re the last thing he sees some (most) nights when he falls asleep

— “hi angel, how’re you this fine morning?” he smirks with that morning voice you love so much

— we all know how he is with expressing his emotions so sometimes he’ll cause unnecessary arguments that normally last all of five minutes and makes it up to you immediately however he is capable

— and on some very rare occasions (finding out about his moms illness) he will just break down in your arms

— these times are most often after everyone in the house has fallen asleep

— he’ll grip onto the back of your shirt as the tears run down his face muttering how scared he is to lose her

— and at the end of that he almost always reminds you of how appreciative of you he is

— “i don’t tell you this enough angel but i am so happy that you’re in my life, thank you for everything that you do for me. i can’t imagine going through this without you.”

— it almost makes him start crying again

— will fall asleep in your arms and says that he loves you over and over again

— lets you do the same for him

— if you aren’t ready to talk about something he’s there to hold you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear

— sweetest boyfriend ever and he can’t live without you :,)

taglist — @pronsletss @ssprayberrythings

if your username is bolded that means i cannot tag you.

© joelsfarabees 2022

[thatswhatsushesaid]

I have a MDZS question and consider you an expert on all things JGY (he did crimes, good for him) so I hope you have some insight into this: I read that NHS found the Sacrifice Ritual in JGY’s Closet of Wonders, but how did JGY get it? Was it in WWX’s Burial Mounds “library,” and if so do you know where WWX found it?

Thanks, I very much enjoy your content!

hey there anon, it's very kind of you to consider me an expert, but i really am not 😬 i've certainly read, reread, and re-reread both the EXR and 7seas translations of the empathy flashback sequence many, many, many times, in addition to the guanyin temple sequence, because those are the parts of the text where jgy's actions are most frequently criticized and taken out of context. for details like the ones you're asking after, i've got to revisit other parts of the book again because my memory is a tea sieve, and i'm also not immune to medium bleed (no one is). so please bear with me, and keep tabs on the notes of this post for any discussion that follows since my pals often chime in with details i've missed.

first point of contention tho: it is never confirmed how novel canon nhs comes by his knowledge/familiarity of the summoning ritual, though wwx does speculate extensively in the guanyin temple denouement that he hears about the ritual from mo xuanyu himself. i don't think he gets his hands on the ritual himself, and i don't think he has access to the jin sect treasure room either. from vol 5 of the 7seas translation:

So yet another person came to [Nie Huaisang's] mind. Mo Xuanyu, who had been banished from Golden Carp Tower.

In the past, Nie Huaisang might have chatted with Mo Xuanyu to glean information from him. From the mouth of the dejected Mo Xuanyu, Nie Huaisang had clearned that he'd read one of Jin Guangyao's fragmented manuscripts of forbidden magic, in which an ancient, evil ritual was recorded. He had then incited Mo Xuanyu to exact revenge for the humiliation he'd suffered at the hands of his own clan members--to use the forbidden art of the sacrificial ritual to seek retribution.

in vol 1 of the 7seas translation, this is what the text tells us about the sacrificial ritual mo xuanyu uses to summon wei wuxian:

The nature of this "sacrificial ritual" was a type of curse. The caster was to harm themselves with a weapon, making cuts on their body and using their own blood to draw the array and write the spells within. They would then sit in the center of the circle and give up their mortal body to evil spirits, using the annihilation of their soul as the price to summon a nefarious, malicious ghost. This was all done in order to request the fulfillment of a wish. Thus, it was the opposite of "possession."

While both were forbidden magics of ill repute, the difference was that the former was much less popular than the latter. After all, few wishes were so strongly desired as to make someone willingly sacrifice everything they had. This was why the technique had been nearly lost after centuries of disuse. The examples recorded in ancient books had only a handful of cases that were backed by reliable evidence, and every single one of them had been for revenge. Every malicious ghost summoned by the ritual had fulfilled the caster's wishes perfectly, in cruel and bloody ways.

i've been thumbing through the rest of the 7seas volumes as well as the EXR translation, but i don't think there's anything more concrete about where the ritual comes from. i think it is entirely possible that the jin sect found copies of something like this ritual in the burial mounds, sure, but i also wouldn't rule out a ritual like this being contained in the treasure room entirely independent of wwx. there's canon precedent for it; case in point, recall the collection of turmoil in the gusu lan's forbidden section of their library.

anyway that's what i've been able to find today, but i'll keep poking around in the books to see if i trip over a passage that neatly answers all of our questions lol.

[rhondafromhr]

Finished the second chapter of my ‘nerds corruption au’ story!

I have way too much free time right now and I’m also having way too much fun writing this so here’s another chapter, this idea has me in an absolute chokehold.

Link to Chapter 1: https://www.tumblr.com/rhondafromhr/738099850581835776/i-ended-up-writing-it-after-all-ill-probably

“We’re Gonna Become the Bullies”

Chapter 2: They’re Walking a Very Fine Line

Paul’s been Richie’s guardian for going on four years now and in that time, Richie’s never given him much of a reason to worry. He’s never been sent to the principal’s office or the police station, he keeps his grades up, he chose the math club over the smoke club and the most rebellious thing he ever does is stay up late on a school night watching anime. More importantly, he tells Paul everything - when he gets bullied at school, when he’s struggling with a class, when he has a fight with Ruth (Oh God, Paul remembers, he promised they’ll go see The Barbecue Monologues to show her their support. Ugh. He does not like musicals). If he’s going to be out late, he always texts Paul to let him know where he is, what he’s doing and about when he thinks he‘ll be home.

At least he did until Friday night. He said he was going to Pete’s after school for a D&D session and he should be home around eleven. But then eleven o’clock rolled around and Richie didn’t appear, nor did a heads up that he was going to be late. Paul ignored the slight gnawing anxiety. There’s no reason to worry, he told himself, they probably just got really caught up in their game. From the few times Richie’s hosted D&D night at their place, he knows how intense they get with it.

But then it was a quarter past eleven and still no sign of him. He texted: hey, haven’t heard from you, everything okay? No answer. Ten more minutes passed and eventually he caved and called. Nothing. He tried two more times and still nothing. By eleven forty-five he was desperate enough to call Ted and ask if he’d heard anything from Peter. He hadn’t and he was none too pleased with Paul for interrupting his favorite pastime (“screwin’ around with another man’s wife”). Apparently, Ted had him on speaker, because Charlotte heard and she was much nicer about it. She told Paul they’d notify him if they heard anything and asked him to please let them know once Richie got home safe. Just when he was on the verge of a panic attack, he heard the lock clicking on the front door as Richie let himself in. By now it was almost two in the morning. Paul exhaled and the tension left his body. He’d never felt this relieved in his life. Obviously, Richie had some explaining to do, but at least he was here. At least Paul finally knew he was safe.

“Hi, Richie. Did something happen? Usually you at least shoot me a text if you’re going to be out late.” Something was definitely off. Richie’s clothes were disheveled and the way he rubbed his arm was subtly different from the way he usually does it - his hand rested on his shoulder rather than his forearm and he winced as if there was some physical pain he was trying to relieve. Did he get hurt? Why didn’t he call Paul for help if he got hurt?

“Oh, uh, sorry, Paul. We just got super into the campaign and I guess the time got away from us. Won’t happen again. I’m pretty tired now, I think I’m going to head to bed. Goodnight!” He rushed to his room before Paul could ask any follow-up questions.

“Goodnight, Richie,” Paul said with a sigh. He wasn’t convinced, but maybe Richie just needed time to open up about whatever actually happened. He always did eventually.

That night still weighs on Paul’s mind as he drives Richie to school Monday morning. Richie seems distracted, too. Without his usual enthusiastic rambling about the merits of subs versus dubs or why there should be a copy of the full Attack on Titan box set in the library of congress, the car feels eerily quiet. Paul turns on the radio to try and fill the silence, but the cheery, up-tempo song that comes on somehow creates an even weirder atmosphere. They finally pull up in front of the school and say their goodbyes.

Just as he’s about to take off, Paul notices a tall boy in a letterman jacket waving to Richie. Richie waves back and approaches him. Wait, isn’t that Max Jägerman? The kid that’s been bullying Richie and his friends for years? He watches as they walk towards the school entrance together. Why is Max being so friendly to him out of the blue? Is this the setup for some horrible, mean-spirited prank? Paul’s heart sinks, but there’s nothing he can do. He’ll just have to trust Richie’s judgment and be there for him if anything happens. He’s definitely going to Beanie’s on his lunch break today. He desperately needs a coffee and Emma will probably be happy to let him vent and maybe even provide some surprisingly thoughtful advice. Knowing her, she’ll welcome any distraction from her usual degrading job duties of making coffee, serving “cold, shitty pastries” and singing for tips.

“Hey, Richie! How was your weekend?” Max greets him enthusiastically. Huh, he’s been upgraded from Shitlips. Not only that, they’re on a first-name basis now. So they’re actually doing this. That night at the Waylon place wasn’t some weird fever dream.

“Uh, it was okay, I guess? My Uncle Paul didn’t seem too happy with me for staying out so late on Friday, but he didn’t, like, ground me or anything. Other than that I didn’t do much, just rewatched Attack on Titan again.” Friday was the weirdest, most stressful night of his life and he had no idea what to expect on Monday, so the comfort and familiarity was much needed.

“Oh, cool. My dad was pretty upset when I told him what happened, too.”

“That makes sense, you did almost die.”

“Yeah, he’s really pissed I didn’t. Wanted to collect the life insurance payout or whatever. You know how dads are,” Max says with a shrug. Richie actually doesn’t know how dads are, but he’s pretty sure that’s not normal.

“Oh, uh, sorry. That sucks.” What else can he say to something like that?

“Anyway, I gave Kyle and Jason the rundown over the weekend and told them to spread the word. Everyone should know by now that you and the rest of the group are not to be messed with and from now on they’ll be answering to all of us. And if anybody tries it you just let me know, it’s a swirly and a flick-it ticket for them. We’ll do it together. I have to teach you the proper form, anyway.”

Oh, right. That part of the deal. It’s not just being cool with Max Jägerman, it’s being “on his level” as he phrased it. Which means joining in on the bullying unless they can use whatever influence they now have to talk Max out of it. Grace did say she thought it was possible back at the Waylon place. Richie agreed at the time. Does he still believe that? Did he ever, or was he just trying to justify their decision? If they can even pull it off, it’s going to be a lot more complicated than just going “Hey, let’s not bully anyone!” and Max being like “Okay, sounds good!”

“Will do, Max, but uh, what if it’s somebody who doesn’t have nuts?” Richie asks. He may or may not be speaking from experience. Truthfully, flick-it tickets have never worked on him, but convincingly faking like they’re the most painful thing in the world has probably saved him from Max inflicting actual pain countless times. Ruth’s acting tips have been really helpful for that.

“Oh, good point! Two swirlies, then. Love your inclusive way of thinking!”

The bell rings, providing Richie with a convenient exit from this conversation.

“Oh, gotta get to honors English, see ya later!”

“Bye, Max.” He hurries to Physics, wondering how the hell Max is in honors English.

When he joins their usual group (plus Grace and Steph) at the lunch table, it seems like everyone else is reeling from the changed dynamic, too. At least Ruth is having a good time with it.

“She actually said hi to me!” Ruth says, her eyes lighting up “Then she told me my headgear is fire today! It was so hot, you could cut the sexual tension with a knife!” There’s only one person at school who still says things are fire unironically. Brenda must have gotten the memo.

“Isn’t she dating Kyle?” Pete points out “I know Max won’t let them, but clearly they’d just go behind his back, right?”

“Yeah,” Richie chimes in “If anything, sneaking around would make it hotter. ‘Forbidden fruit’ and all that.”

“Duh! Everyone knows that, watch some porn! But also, watch some romcoms - I’m the nerdy underdog, obviously she chooses me in the end.”

Before Grace can admonish Ruth for being so lewd or Stephanie can rant about the problematic tropes and implications of the romcom comment (the collective word count of her Twitter threads on the subject rivals War and Peace), Pete raises the question that’s been on all of their minds:

“Can we really be considered underdogs anymore?”

“I don’t know. The vibe is definitely different from before,” replies Richie “God, this morning was so weird. Max just walked up to me and started the most normal ass ‘how was your weekend?’ conversation ever. I mentioned anime and he didn’t even make fun of me, it was fucking surreal!”

“It’s definitely weird, but I have to admit it’s been kind of nice to be able to walk down the hallway without constantly watching my back,” Pete says “Brad Callahan called me Micro-Pete earlier. I told him to back off and he actually did!”

“He called you what?” Startled, they all look up to find Max looming over them at the end of their table. When did he get here? “I fuckin’ told him not to bother you guys, but it looks like my instructions were unclear. C’mon, Pete, let’s go find him. We’ll make sure there are no further misunderstandings.”

“What, like, beat him up? I don’t know, Max, he’s twice my size. And he did back off, maybe we let him off with a warning this time?” Pete protests weakly.

“It’s okay, dude, I’ll be right there with you! Nobody who knows what’s good for them is going to jump in to defend him, either, so it’ll be two against one. And I know pummeling people seems intimidating if you’ve never done it before, but I’ll show you the ropes. I bet you're stronger than you think you are!” Ignoring the subject matter, Pete has to admit Max gives a pretty solid pep talk. Now that they’re sort of friends, maybe Max will send some of that energy his way before the AP Physics exam.

“Okay,” Pete says, still uncertain, but also acutely aware that he’s not getting out of this one.

“Can I come with?” Stephanie asks “I’ve actually always wanted to slap Brad across his stupid, smug face, but this is the final straw. Nobody’s going to disrespect you like that on my watch.” Pete turns beet-red.

“Oh, awesome, three against one!” Max says “Let’s roll out!” Stephanie grabs Pete’s hand and the three take their leave. Max and Steph walk with a menacing, determined stride like predators stalking their prey. Pete trails behind them, a little more hesitant, but still follows.

“Slapping Brad in the face has always been one of my fantasies, too! Probably not in the same way, though,” Ruth says “I should’ve joined them! Life is but a series of missed opportunities.”

“Ruth,” Grace says “have you ever considered taking a vow of chastity? Resisting the temptation you’re feeling until you’re safely married could save your immortal soul.”

“No, of course not! Why would I do that now of all times? I’m not a repulsive loser anymore, somebody might finally touch me!” Ruth sighs dreamily. “I’m telling you guys, me and Brenda, there’s something there.”

“If you’re so worried about our immortal souls, why didn’t you try to stop them just now? I don’t spend my weekends at bible study, but I’m pretty sure wrath is a sin,” says Richie.

“Well, Brad has it coming. He’s always been a no good sinner. It’s not our wrath, it’s God’s wrath. They’re just carrying out His will.”

Richie’s surprised to find himself entertaining Grace’s point. She’s right about Brad, at least. He has always been kind of an asshole. He was picking on Pete earlier, too, and it certainly wasn’t the first time. Then there’s the whole “long-con” aspect of it all - once again, things aren’t going to change overnight. They all need to play along if they don’t want to lose their new status ruling Hatchetfield High by Max’s side. Maybe if the next target is less deserving than Brad, he can test the waters and try to get Max to lay off. For now, Richie will just head to his next class and try to make it through the rest of the school day without being roped into roughing somebody up.

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Idea #79: Harry Potter, but make it Petunia Evans

I once asked my mother If you could travel into any fictional world, which would it be? and she unhesitatingly answered Harry Potter. While there's much to be said about the HP universe, it's not exactly a world I'd want to live in, and so I spent the last several months figuring out how, if I were to write an HP SI, would I do it, and eventually came up with this.

Or: What if the SI were to replace Petunia Evans as a young girl?

Just imagine it:

Rather than a true self-insert, I see this as more of modern muggle meets the British Wizarding World, with a middle-aged HP fan waking up in the body of 5-year-old Petunia Evans following a minor illness. The keyword here is fan - or rather, a critical fan - who enjoyed the books but is not unaware of their problems, be they with they author or the text - and particularly the way that, as one gets older, the less benevolent Dumbledore seems.

Once the SI has resigned herself to waking up in the body of Petunia Josephine Evans (two wars, puberty, and all of the 80s to live through again!), she realizes very quickly there is very little she can do to change the events of the first Wizarding War. All she can do is try to live the best life possible and provide a better life for young Harry Potter when he eventually shows up in her care.

(Starting with choosing to go by a short form of her middle name, Jo, instead of Petunia, as she thinks she might stab the next adult who tries to call her Pet after less than a week in her new life.)

Jo does this in number of ways - mainly by taking advantage of once having been a middle-aged woman with an engineering background and breezing through her education. Having been born only 18 months before Lily, Jo is 12-and-a-half when Lily gets her Hogwarts letter in January 1971 and studying for her A-levels and preparing to go to Oxford in the fall.

Unlike canon Petunia, Jo has no desire to go to Hogwarts - not only does she know exactly what the professor who comes to introduce Lily to the Wizarding World isn't telling her overawed parents, but she's never been close with her sister. Or any of her family. She's tried - she really has - but the Evans family had a clear favorite long before Lily ever learned of her magic. (Jo knows her parents' wedding date, precisely five months before she was born, and thinks that explains much of their feelings towards her; and the way her father in particular is taken with magic makes her think he might be a second-generation squib over the moon to see magic return to his line.)

While Lily is studying magic, Jo attends Oxford. By age 16 she has a BA and MA in Medieval History - specializing in the history of science (Think Diana Bishop in A Discovery of Witches). She gets herself emancipated the same year and starts in on her doctoral studies.

Once a week, she'll slip into the magical section of the university library system and pick up some back copies of The Daily Prophet, just to keep abreast of all the things Lily never tells their parents.

Mr. and Mrs. Evans die in a car crash in late 1977, when Jo is 19 and Lily has just started her Seventh Year. Lily doesn't come home for the funeral, which Jo is left to plan all by herself. As Lily is not yet an adult in the muggle world, her care is left to Jo for the last few months, but when she finally gets a reply to her letters it's all don't pretend you care now, you abandoned us the first chance you got and you were always jealous of my magic anyway. This is the last Jo will ever hear from her sister, not getting so much as a birth announcement for little Harry.

By Halloween 1981, Jo has earned her doctorate in Medieval History and is working as an associate professor at the university. The pay is terrible, but she has all the insurance money from the Evans and some healthy investments based off her knowledge of her original world, enough for her to buy a small house near the college.

She stays up all Halloween night, waiting.

Harry Potter never arrives.

Jo spends all of 1 November fretting over what she might have changed to change this and falls asleep early, exhausted. When she wakes on the morning of 2 November, she finds her 15-month-old nephew on her doorstep.

And here's where things truly start to change.

That first week, Jo reaches out to a friend in the muggle child welfare department she may have originally cultivated for just this reason, explaining that her estranged sister's son has just appeared on her doorstep without any documentation other than a letter saying that his family has been killed and Harry's care falls to her.

Once the emergency paperwork has been filed on the muggle side, she girds her loins and heads to Gringotts. The goblins aren't the friendliest beings around, but they are fastidious. Jo has the muggle paperwork and a mildly threatening letter from Dumbledore stating she is to be Harry Potter's guardian, and so she gains control of the Potter financials and another layer of paperwork to back up her claim.

From there, a trip to a Wizarding lawyer to 1) file everything with the Ministry and 2) keep her underage nephew's name out of the papers is all she needs to finalize things. It may be overkill, but she's taking no chances when it comes to Dumbledore and his greater good.

And then she settles down into the business of raising Harry.

Jo is not the maternal type, but she manages to be a fairly decent parent nonetheless. Besides, Harry is a happy, easygoing baby, eager to explore his new home even if he doesn't quite understand why his parents had to go away.

So it's a surprise when, nearly a year into the endeavor, an auror and a representative from Wizarding child services arrives at her door. (Apparently her paperwork was all that was needed to remind the wizarding world that they had a duty of care to a magical orphan, no matter how famous, and the last year has been spent in legal battles where Dumbledore tried to suppress all knowledge of Harry's whereabouts and various others tried to attain that knowledge for various reasons, none of which anyone bothered to inform Harry's muggle guardian about.)

Regardless of the exact reasons for the delay, the visit goes well, and Jo ends up inviting the auror - Kingsley Shaklebolt - to return and tell Harry about his parents and the Wizarding world as he grows up, as she certainly can't tell him anything.

Harry's childhood is a montage of exactly what you'd imagine growing up in the care of an Oxford don would be. Kingsley is his most regular visitor, but with a Wizarding section to the college he eventually is introduced to others and their children for the occasional playdate. He's happy and healthy and a little more bookish than canon - a Ravenclaw with Gryffindor tendencies - and never quite forgets his aunts early lessons that critical thinking should be applied to everything, be it textbooks or news reports or children's books.

Harry's Hogwarts years pass exactly as one might expect when a child with an active and motivated guardian is placed repeatedly in danger. Particularly when that guardian is close friends with an auror who continues to pay weekly visits even after her charge leaves for boarding school.

Dumbledore is placed on suspension on allegations of child endangerment following the events of First Year, meaning Lucius Malfoy never feels the need to drop the Diary into Ginny's cauldron to cause trouble for the Light. He makes it out of the legal proceedings with all his titles, but with more than a little egg on his face. Part of the settlement involves increased security at Hogwarts - and changes to the ward scheme mean both Sirius and Wormtail are found shortly after the start of Third Year, given trials, and dealt with accordingly.

Sirius tries to gain custody of Harry immediately, but Jo refuses to even let him near the boy until he's gotten some of the mental help he so clearly needs after so much time with the Dementors.

Jo absolutely puts her foot down for the Triwizard Tournament, which Harry manages to get out of with her help, but he still ends up kidnapped at the end of the year while everyone is too busy watching the Third Task to notice. Voldemort is resurrected with help of Barty Crouch Jr - but because Crouch failed to check Harry for emergency portkeys, is able to escape as soon as his bindings are cut. He's dropped, covered in blood, straight into the middle of the Auror Offices.... which helps a lot of people to believe someone at least tried to resurrect Voldy, even if very few believe he succeeded and it's not an imposter running around.

With the Wizarding World aware there's someone running around calling himself Voldemort, even if very few believe it's the original, events of Fifth Year are vastly different. Dumbledore tries to pull most of his HBP tricks - the lessons, Slughorn, Snape taking over DADA - but they fail, largely because of that critical thinking thing Jo hammered into Harry as he was growing up. He passes along everything he's learned to Jo and Kingsley - the latter who, with some nudging from Jo, puts together Horcruxes and mobilizes the parts of the Ministry he can trust.

Sixth Year is largely Kingsley and co tracking down and destroying Horcruxes while Voldemort rages war across the Wizarding World. It goes so well he makes an open play for the Ministry at the end of the year - only to be killed by Kingsley during the battle, the last of his Horcruxes having been destroyed without his knowledge not long beforehand.

Kingsley is hailed as the new savior of the Wizarding World - a position Harry gladly abdicates - and is very quickly installed as the new Minister of Magic.

Harry goes on to graduate Hogwarts, gain a Mastery in Alchemy, and make several advancements in medical fields that earn him an Order of Merlin in his own right.

As for Jo? Well, she continues teaching at Oxford, eventually gaining a full professorship and writing several well-received books popularizing the History of Science. She never marries, but by the middle of Harry's third year is more or less living openly with Kingsley. They end up having one child together - very much a surprise, as Jo was convinced it was early onset menopause until the fifth month - born May 2, 1998, whom they name Elizabeth Evans-Shaklebolt. There are many in this Ministry who take umbrage at their Minister's ongoing affair with a muggle, but oddly enough its Kingsley's openness about his relationship with leads to an easing of tensions between the purebloods and muggleborns on the theory if a muggle is good enough for the minister, there must be something to them. Things are still far from perfect in the British Wizarding World by the time he retires, but the political situation is less tense than it's been since before the First World War.

Bonuses include: 1) A slow-burn friends to lovers arc for Jo and Kingsley that surprises both of them, with their friendship developing over the years as he visits Harry and not switching gears to romance until Kingsley continues to visit Jo's little house in Oxford after Harry goes off to Hogwarts (and realizes those visits were never just about Harry.) Theirs is not a grand, fated romance, but sneaks up on them like a sunrise after a long, dark night, and settles quite quickly into domestic bliss; 2) The Evans family being portrayed as not evil or intentionally cruel so much as personal circumstances led to Mr. and Mrs. Evans playing favorites with their children, and Lily internalizing herself as the "good" child and Jo as the "bad" one, deserving of scorn, regardless of her actions. For Lily, this was helped along by her childhood friendship with Snape, where she internalized the magic good, muggles jealous of magic, and the political situation at Hogwarts, where it became Light magic good, Dark wizards bad, everyone else in need of our guidance. It's a very black-and-white view and she might possibly have grown out of it in time, but she was never given the chance. (Or she might have played favorites with her own children, as her parents had done with her). She, like James, was far from perfect; and 3) Harry portrayed as a Gryffindor-leaning Ravenclaw who is friendly across all houses but who occasionally runs into trouble for not being Gryffindor enough for those who grew up hearing his story and a bit off-putting to children his own age after spending so much time around adults growing up. He grows out of the latter in time - though, as with Hermione in canon, there are growing pains - but not the former - which leads him to go after the stone in his first year in the first place. He should always be a little disappointed there's not more to Hogwarts and should always keep one foot in the Muggle world, earning Chemistry degrees to go along with his Alchemy Mastery. This too works to popularize Wizards getting advanced muggle education, which paves the way in time for greater advancements in the Wizarding World.

And that is all I have - admittedly light on Harry's Hogwarts years, but then again my issue with HP SI is that I, personally, would not want to attend Hogwarts. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back if you ever do anything with it.

Other SIs: Lysa Arryn | Petunia Evans | Princess of Dol Amroth

More Terrible Fic Ideas

[ninja-muse]

February was a pretty good month! I read some books I really loved (and a couple that were simply meh), I got in a father-daughter visit and had really good luck at Scrabble, the weather was mostly not awful, and even if inventory at work took longer than expected, I survived it without brain mush, which has happened before. I am still the fastest scanner! My title holds.

Regular readers will be unsurprised to learn that Eve by Cat Bohannon and Mirrored Heavens by Rebecca Roanhorse were my top reads of the month, or that What Feasts At Night by T. Kingfisher ranks third. My T. Kingfisher problem is at least a year old, after all. (Also I read a couple delightful picture books, so be sure to click through to find them!)

I'm personally more surprised by my lowest picks, because they both sounded so up my alley but fell flat for nearly completely different reasons. The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store ended up feeling disjointed and like it was trying for a theme it couldn't quite grasp, and A Market of Dreams and Desires hit all kinds of tropes I love, right down to random Dickens references and weird steampunk machines, but tied everything together a little too neatly for me. Ah well.

And right in the middle of my list is my sole physical TBR read of the month: The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz. This managed to tick off "Canadian author" and "classic" at the same time, so I get triple points. (This might have had a hand in me picking it.) Duddy has aged surprisingly well, in that it's still pretty fast-paced and amusing and also in that Richler wrote it with the understanding that scam artistry, hypermaterialism, and misogyny were bad and y'know what? They still are. I would recommend if you're looking for a Canadian teen anti-hero, more than anything. Duddy is a trainwreck and you can't look away.

I managed to get through the month with only three books hauled. (We won't talk about ARCs but the book fairies were kind.) The Unfortunate Traveller and Under a Pendulum Sun were bought during the habitual father-daughter bookstore date, and both because I never thought I'd see them and figured I might never see them again. The Unfortunate Traveller is essays and travel writing by a guy who co-wrote with Shakespeare and I didn't know it even existed. Under the Pendulum Sun was recced to me somewhere (here? bookish website algorithms?) and since it's essentially a gothic novel with properly weird fairies, it's been on my list.

The third book was a total surprise. Apparently I helped crowdfund it in 2019 and they've only just managed to get it printed and also I said I wanted a physical copy? The things we learn. Anyway, it's essays on aromanticism, agender identity, and asexuality so that tracks.

And I know I said I wasn't going to talk about ARCs but I got some good ones this last month and also in January, and there's a lot of them that are out or soon to be out and I'm having that problem where I want to be reading all of them at once. March is going to be interesting and probably a little panic-inducing.

Click through to see everything I read this month, in the rough order of how glad I was to have read them.

Eve - Cat Bohannon

A history of human evolution, through the lens of the female body.

8.5/10

warning: touches on sexism, mental illness, suicide, miscarriage, and rape

reading copy

Mirrored Heavens - Rebecca Roanhorse

The fractures following the eclipse have deepened and no one can see a way back to peace that doesn’t involve bloodshed. Out in June

8/10

Indigenous cast, 🏳️‍🌈 POV characters (bisexual, third gender), 🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (third gender, sapphic), Black-Pueblo author

warning: war, torture, mentions of child abuse

reading copy

What Feasts At Night - T. Kingfisher

Alex Easton has returned to kar hunting lodge to relax. Unfortunately, the locals claim there's a monster on a property.

8/10

🏳️‍🌈 protagonist (third gender), protagonist with PTSD

Library ebook

The Twilight Queen - Jeri Westerson

Will Somers, jester to Henry VIII, is caught up in another mystery, this time of a corpse in Queen Anne’s bedchamber.

7/10

🏳️‍🌈 main character (bi), 🏳️‍🌈 secondary character (gay)

digital reading copy

The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz - Mordechai Richler

A delinquent teen grows into a hustler, against the backdrop of mid-century Jewish Montreal.

7/10

largely Jewish cast, Jewish author, 🇨🇦

warning: racial slurs, misogyny

Off my TBR shelves

The Woman With No Name - Audrey Blake

Lonely and craving war work, Yvonne signs up to be the first female spy for the Allies in occupied France. Out in March

7/10

half a 🇨🇦 author

reading copy

The Frame-Up - Gwenda Bond

Ten years ago, Dani turned her art thief mom in to the Feds. Now her mom’s mentor has given Dani an offer she can’t refuse: use her magic to pull an impossible heist, get her life back.

6.5/10

Black secondary characters, 🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (sapphic)

reading copy

The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store - James McBride

The Black and Jewish residents of a Pennsylvania neighbourhood are (mostly) in it together, not least of when the government decides to take a local Deaf kid to an asylum.

7/10

Jewish and Black cast, major character with chronic illness and a limp, secondary Deaf character, Black author

warning: ableist characters and institutions, racist and anti-Semitic characters, sexual assault and molestation, (largely) reclaimed slurs

library book

The Market of Dreams and Destiny - Trip Galey

Deri may have a chance to buy out his indenture early when he meets a princess looking to sell her destiny. But in the goblin’s Untermarkt, nothing’s ever easy.

6.5/10

🏳️‍🌈 main character (mlm), 🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (mlm, genderfluid), British Indian secondary character, 🏳️‍🌈 author

warning: child abuse, enslavement

borrowed from work

Picture Books

No Cats in the Library - Lauren Emmons

Cats aren’t allowed in the library but that’s where all the books are!

🏳️‍🌈 author

Read at work

Family is Family - Melissa Marr

Chick gets a note before kindergarten, telling him to have his mom or dad walk him to school. Except that Chick has two moms.

🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters and themes

Read at work

Currently reading

Knife Skills for Beginners - Orlando Murrin

Paul Delamare is filling in at a cooking school when the resident celebrity chef has a, erm, "accident."

🏳️‍🌈 protagonist (gay), Black British secondary character

Reading copy

True North - Andrew J. Graff

The Brechts move to Wisconsin to restart a rafting business. They hope it’ll save their young family, but it might do the opposite.

library book

Music from the Earliest Notations to the Sixteenth Century - Richard Taruskin

A history of early written European music, in its social and political contexts.

The Penguin Complete Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle

Victorian detective stories

disabled POV character, occasional secondary Indian secondary characters

warning: racism, colonialism

Monthly total: 9 +2 Yearly total: 20 Queer books: 4 + 2 Authors of colour: 2 Books by women: 6 Authors outside the binary: 0 Canadian authors: 1.5 Classics: 1 Off the TBR shelves: 1 Books hauled: 3 ARCs acquired: 6 ARCs unhauled: 4 DNFs: 0

January

[xdarkestdesirex]

When Faith Meets Juvenile - Chap 3

This is a Dale Holt x reader story. There's no (y/n) insert. I'm just avoiding the use of the reader's name, and it is female-based. There are hints of physical appearance but nothing in-depth.

This writing contains highly sensitive content like violence, drugs, the use of weapons, abuse, mental illness, hostage situations, talk of suicide, religious abuse, smut, and other mature themes. Reader discretion is advised. MUST BE 18+ TO INTERACT.

I do not allow anyone to copy, alter, or repost my work as their own.

1681-word count

prev

Two months later

The first week of my senior year of high school has finally ended. I sat in the school library, polishing my outline for the school year. Every year, I create a timeline from the syllabus’ I get from my teachers to make sure I’m getting things done on time and staying on track with my schoolwork. My list this year wasn’t very long since I got ahead of my classes in the previous years. I technically only have three classes every day, but I still show up when school starts and leave later than most kids; ever since that one Sunday two months ago, my parents have had me on extreme lockdown. I haven’t been allowed out of the house to see friends and could only go places if one of my parents took me. The way they’ve been treating me is suffocating, and James, my brother, is loving every minute of it. They usually treat him like this for about a week or two when he gets in trouble, but I feel like they won’t stop with me. 

So I did what every average teen would do; I lied and told my parents I took some extra classes, so I would need to be at school all day. They loved that. Being here gave me the space to be away from them. The clock struck five o’clock, and I began packing my things to head outside. As I was about to exit the library, the librarian told me my father had called, saying I would need to walk home as he needed to be at the church, and my mother could not pick me up. For the past week, my father would be outside the library for at least thirty minutes before I would come out. I think he was trying to see if I would try to sneak back to the library from elsewhere. I never told them what happened and who I was with that fateful Sunday evening. I’m sure my father imagines the worst-case scenario, and I will let him believe whatever he wants. 

Thankfully, I had my MP3 in my bag, so I pulled it out, put my headphones over my head, and blasted my music while I walked on the sidewalk. The sun was setting on the horizon, creating a beautiful painting of pinks, oranges, and yellows in the sky. The air was starting to get cool at night, and the faintest shiver ran down my spine. I was coming up to a mini market that sold various snacks, drinks, alcohol, and cigarettes when I saw a familiar-looking truck. Without realizing it, my feet started to move in the direction of the car. I couldn’t fully see who was in it, but I could see a man’s head. Their hair was brown, and I could see a white t-shirt clinging onto their shoulders. A muscular arm fell out from the driver’s window, holding a cigarette with smoke billowing out into the air. When I got close enough to see the guy’s face and confirmed it was Dale, I stood there staring at him, not knowing what to do next.

“You just gonna stand there and stare at me, Doll?” He said while blowing out another cloud of smoke. 

“I-uh, sorry,” I said. He probably thinks I’m a creep now. 

“Did you want something?” His face turned directly at me, showcasing a dark bruise surrounding his eye.

“Are you okay?” Concern arose in my chest, and I instinctively moved closer to him. My arm reached out to crease his face, but he swatted my hand away with a stern look.

“It’s none of your fucking business.” He spat. 

I was slightly hurt by what he said, but at the same time, it wasn’t my business. I shouldn’t have expected him to tell me anything when we barely knew each other. Without responding to him, I reached into my bag and grabbed my notebook and a pencil. I wrote the number to my family’s phone, ripped the paper from my notebook, and handed it to him. “If you ever want to talk, here’s my number. My parents are strict, so just say you’re in my class and we’re working on a project together. They won’t question you.” It took him a moment before grabbing the paper. “I have to go. Hopefully, I’ll hear from you soon.” He didn’t say anything else as I walked away.  

It didn’t take me much longer to arrive at my house. When I walked in, my mother was finishing dinner, and my brother sat at the dining table with his collage work spread about. He attended a Christian college just a few hours away from Two Rock, studying to become a pastor like our dad. When he announced what he would do, my parents were ecstatic, and my father had already bragged about it to everyone he knew. Ever since James threatened me, our relationship had strained. I always thought he was a good big brother, and I appreciated how he used to look after me. At school, people weren’t the nicest to me, and he would always protect me. He was never rude to me before but would throw side-handed compliments every once in a while. I just thought that’s what siblings did, so I never thought about it, but it was like he saw an opportunity to be better than me. So he took it. It was nice not having him home during the weekdays, but every Friday after his classes, he would drive back home for the weekend. How everything has shifted at home has made my heart hurt in a way I didn’t know was possible.

I walked to my bedroom and set my backpack on my desk chair. Then, I headed into the bathroom and freshened up for dinner. I washed my face to clear it from the bit of makeup I wore during the day and to eliminate any grime that may have formed. I pulled my hair into a braid and returned to the dining room. My brother cleaned his mess up and helped our mother set the table. Across the table sat pasta, spaghetti sauce, salad, and bread. It was my favorite meal my mother would make. Once everyone sat at the table, my brother prayed over our meal, and we started eating. Usually, we would wait for my father to get home before eating, but he informed my mom that he wouldn’t be home until late. “How was your week, darlings?” A question my mom always asked. She acted as the sweet, doting mother in public and at home. I felt like her mask never left. Which was kind of sad to think about because I didn’t know who my mom was. I just knew this persona of her. 

“I got assigned a pretty big project in school today. It will take up the whole year, and then we have to turn it in as a part of our final.” I spoke after swallowing my food. 

“Well, I don’t doubt you’ll do a good job on it!” My mother smiled at me.

“It’s also a partner project. I gave the guy assigned as my partner our number so we could work on it over the phone together.” 

“Thank you for the heads up, sweetie.” 

I knew that telling her this in advance would show her I wasn’t hiding anything from them and that working over the phone would be better than going out with some guy. Unfortunately, I couldn’t give him a personal number because I don’t own a phone. My parents don’t think having one while I still live with them is necessary, but they said they would buy me one as a present if I were to move away for college.

“Could your partner’s name possibly be Dale?” My brother said with a devilish smirk.

I stopped mid-chew to glare at my sibling across the table. “His name is Luca Smith,” I flashed an innocent smile at my brother. I used the name of a guy in my class that my brother knew so he couldn’t question whether this person existed. 

“Who’s Dale, sweetie?” My mother inquired. My brother opened his mouth, but I spoke before he could say anything.

“Just a guy in my class who doesn’t put effort into anything and relies on others to get him a passing grade.”

“He must have made quite the name for himself if your brother knows of him,” My mother shook her head. She’s acting disapproving, but little does she know James would do the same thing.

“Oh, you have no idea,” James leaned back into his chair. He’s playing a game with me, making one move at a time until he gets a checkmate. And I don’t doubt he’ll get there eventually. Maybe I should just be honest with them? It would be better coming from me than having my brother tell them. He would probably make it out to be something it’s not, which would be even worse. And if I tell them first, it wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of ‘busting’ me. The distant ringing interrupted my thoughts, and my mother excused herself to pick up the phone stationed in the living room. I could only hear faint mumbling and then her walking back to the dining room. 

“Honey, it’s Luca,” She extended her slender arm out to me with our Nokia in the palm of her hand. 

“Oh, uh, can I be excused from dinner?” I hesitantly grabbed the phone from her.

“Of course! And don’t worry about cleaning up. Your brother can do it for you.” I said a quick thank you and walked down the hall to my bedroom. I bet my brother is happy about doing my chores. Once the door was closed behind me, I sat on my bed and took a deep, shaky breath. Why am I so nervous to talk to him on the phone? Another second passes before I hold the phone to my ear and say,

 “Hello?”

next

AN:

AHHHH, YOU GUYSSS. If you haven't seen my recent news, I'M ENGAGED!!!!! I'm excited about this new chapter of my life, and so many things will change. I will be planning a wedding while also preparing to move halfway across the States to be with my fiance. In a previous post, I mentioned that he's in the military. We'd been dating for a few years before he enlisted, and it was EXTREMELY hard having him gone for about 9 months. So thank you, everyone, for being patient while he was home again so I could give him my undivided attention before he moved. Even though things will be a bit crazy, I don't plan on slacking with this story; in fact, I've been itching to write with all these ideas and storylines just floating around in my head. I'm excited for y'all to be a part of this journey with me and to have this story as my baby through it all, too, lol.

Stay tuned for another post soon 👀

[foxgloveprincess]

Pairing: Andy Barber x Female Reader [Second Person Narrator]

Summary: Of course, you had to fall sick. What else could possibly happen when you’re being kept in some bastard’s basement?

Word Count: 2,956

Attic Wives Anonymous Masterlist

Warnings: Dark, Non Con (non-sexual), Kidnapping, Basement Wife Trope, Manipulation, Legal Documents, Illness (mentions of Retching/Nausea, Fever), Swearing/Cursing, Bathing, Pet Names (honey, precious). Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: Not as grody as the last chapter, I promise. Hope you enjoy it. Let me know if I missed any tags. Happy Second Sunday of Attic Wives Advent! ❄️🎉🍾🙌🏻

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. However, I give no permission to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work on any third party website or app. Seeing my work posted anywhere beside my blog, my library blog, or my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess) means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

I don’t do tag lists, so follow @foxglovefics to sign up for notifications on my fics. 

This is unBeta’d, so all mistakes are my own.

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!

Your body shivers uncontrollably beneath the blanket. If only you had a mountain to burrow under. Something to keep you warm. Yet you’re sweating from every pore. 

Hate burns deep in your belly, swirling with the nausea. That sick fuck is gonna leave you down here to die. Let the fever ravage you until you expire. No. You won’t let it. Your teeth grit even as they chatter. Burning rage fuels you, though exhaustion tugs at your eyelids. Sleep too tempting to resist, you plummet into it. Rest is good—it’ll help your body fight. 

You awaken to a weight shifting beside you a few hours—who could say how many—later. Your eyes snap open, arms flailing to swat at the man sitting beside you. A weak growl rolls roughly in your throat. 

“Hey, shhhh,” he soothes as he grabs your wrists. 

You blink and squint into the dim lighting. It’s not Andy—the man imprisoning you in his basement. The older man beside you looks down at your shivering frame with something like pity shining in his eyes. He’s handsome, but you’ve learned to be wary of that. Too many fucked up experiences under your belt. 

“What has Andy put you through?” he asks, muttering more to himself than to you. 

You scowl and turn your head away from his hand lifted to check your temperature. 

“Fuck off,” you grit from a sore throat. 

“I’m here to help you,” the man says with a quick glance over his shoulder. “You can’t live like this.” 

You blink up at him, suspicions dulled by a foggy head but still pricking at his smooth-talking. Like he expects you to believe him. He knows Andy. He’s probably in cahoots with him—friends, thick as thieves. Who knows what this wolf is hiding under his sheep’s clothing. 

The door to the basement unlocks and opens. Andy enters with a tray filled with a plate, pill bottles, a single flower in a vase, a cup, and mug. 

The man leans closer in quiet desperation. “Just trust me.” Even his insistence doesn’t persuade you, though something about his tone piques your curiosity. He stands and backs into a corner as your captor closes the door. 

“There’s my girl,” Andy croons, approaching the bed and setting the tray next to it. “The doctor recommended plenty of fluids and to check your temperature about now.”

He presses the button and the device beeps before he slides it across your forehead. You scowl, but it doesn’t affect the path of the device as it reads your temperature. 

“Oh, dear,” he mutters under his breath. 

Andy places the thermometer aside and cradles your face in his hands. You bare your teeth, but you have so little energy to fight. 

“Her temperature’s higher,” he says to the man in the corner. “What do I do?” His eyes plead, his fingers stroking over your cheek. 

The man pushes himself away from the wall. He approaches and gently sits beside Andy. He removes your captor’s hands from your face. You slump, releasing the tension in your body. In your fuzzy brain, you can’t decipher the look the older man sends your way. 

“You know what needs to happen,” he says with a pointed look toward your feet. 

You unconsciously shift, the chains rattling under your blanket. 

Andy sighs, his chin dropping toward his chest. “Yeah,” he admits in defeat. 

Your ears prick beneath the heat of your fever. What is he doing?

He reaches for the button of his collared shirt. It pops open under his fingers and he reaches inside, drawing out a thin chain necklace and a dangling key. He hesitates with the key in his hand, but bends slowly toward your feet. He draws away the blanket and lifts your ankle to his lap. The click of the lock unlatching sounds like a hallelujah chorus. The chain and ankle cuff fall away with a clatter to the floor. Tears fill your eyes. It’s not much, but already you feel hope igniting in your heart. An opportunity, even if you can’t take it right now.

Without looking away from your foot, Andy asks, “do you really think this is—”

“Yes,” the older man interrupts. 

A moment passes as the two men lock eyes. Andy sighs and leans down again to kiss your legs—higher up your thigh, exposing more of your skin to the cold air. If you could move, you’d kick his teeth in. But he keeps a gentle hand on your ankle in his lap, petting over and soothing the red skin. Even his softest touch stronger than what little you possess in your weakened body. His thumb strokes your ankle bone. You growl, but the sound cuts off into a coughing fit. 

Andy rubs your back as he lifts you in your shivering cocoon of fever. Hiking you up into his arms and holding you close to his chest. He grunts. You protest with soft sounds of fury and surprise. Curses and spite sit on your tongue, unvoiced.

As he climbs the stairs up out of the dingy, disgusting basement you can’t even appreciate it, eyes closed to stave off the bubbling nausea in your gut. Sunlight blooms across your face. You open your eyes to be blinded. Such a normal home around you. Big windows leading to a lush green backyard. 

Your lips open to scream, sure that this is your chance. All you manage is a weak croak. 

“Shhh,” Andy shushes with his head tilting to rest his chin to your forehead. “Don’t exert yourself, honey. Everything’s okay.”

You turn your head and open your lips, biting into his shoulder. Your teeth ache with the pressure. He groans softly and tilts his head to press his lips to your forehead. You stop, stomach lurching. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He keeps climbing up another set of stairs and another like a ladder. The room he enters barely catches your notice, save for the lightness of its walls and its cleanliness. 

The door just to the side of the entrance reveals an adjoining bathroom. He takes you in and sits you on the closed toilet in your blanket. Your eyes scan your surroundings. White tile gleams, pristine. A large sink sits in a quartz countertop which dips into a vanity. A shower head points into a large tub—big enough for at least two. You shudder and close your eyes for a moment to shield yourself from that gut-wrenching thought. 

Water rushes from the faucet of the bathtub and he lets it fill. The sound of it grates in your head. Too loud, too much. Your feet itch. An attempt to stand and run leads to disappointment—dizziness and fatigue too much a hinderance. You groan. Though it catches his notice, Andy says nothing and continues to prepare towels and soaps for your bath. 

You can admit that relief sparks at the prospect of finally getting clean. How long you’ve spent in that filthy, disgusting basement you couldn’t say. Don’t even want to guess. Nose-blind now to your own body odor, you can’t imagine how you smell, and you can’t bring yourself to look in the vanity’s mirror to see the state of your skin.  

“Come here, honey,” Andy beckons while he approaches and tries to strip the blanket from your shoulders. 

“No,” you grit between your teeth, clutching at the fabric. 

With your impaired strength against his, it’s no wonder you lose. He balls the blanket and throws it out the door. A smug smile on his lips. You sneer. 

Delighted at your inability to defend yourself, he hikes you back up into his arms and dips you into the water. One smooth motion with no time for you to snap at him as your bottom finds the porcelain of the tub. Violent shivers wrack your body. The water, it’s too cold. Your hands grip the edge, searching for leverage to hoist yourself out of the glacial water. 

Andy’s hold you down. “Hey, let your body get used to it. The doctor said lukewarm water would help lower your temperature.” His eyes shine down at you, a farce of kindness and sympathy. Too consumed by drinking in your bare figure beneath the water.

Your lips tremble too much to do more than sputter hateful sounds. But your captor doesn’t seem to mind as he begins to douse your shoulders and hair with water and foam up a loofah with body wash. 

“Don’t. You. Dare,” you manage to bite as his hand approaches. 

“Do you think you can wash yourself, honey?” he asks, all concern and encouragement—evil bastard. “Here.” He offers the loofah to your hands. “You can go ahead.” 

The frustration builds. Your hands fumble the soapy loofah before it falls into the bath water. You try again, but each effort to wash your limbs ends in struggle and defeat. 

“It’s alright, precious girl,” Andy coos with a pleased glint in his eye, “let me help you.” 

You’ve no choice. Not when he takes the loofah and softly scrubs it over your shoulders. With the warmth of the water and your waning energy, it’s no contest. You sink down into the water while he manipulates your limbs. 

“You know,” he mentions as he tilts your head back and grabs a soft washcloth for your face. “I’m not a bad guy, honey.” He smooths the soapy cloth over your face and clears it from the dust and debris of the basement. “I just wanted us to have our best chance.”

“Holy hell,” you mutter under your breath, leaning into the distortion of your syllables through your slightly stuffed nose. 

A knock sounds from the door. Your head lifts from its position. Sputtering through the water that splashes in your eyes, you huff a frustrated breath. 

“I have everything ready out here,” the other man says through the wood. 

“Thanks,” Andy calls over his shoulder, turning back to you with a smile. “It’s all gonna be better, you’ll see.”

Curses run through your head, scenarios forming. Each one worse than the next. What hell are they going to put you through now? Andy tips your head back further and soaks your hair with water. 

“I know this might take a moment, but I’ve researched what’s best for your hair.” Pride exudes from his words, like he’s expecting praise from you. As fucking if. 

He squeezes shampoo into his hand and begins. Each step he does with the utmost care. Like you’re some precious, fragile doll fit for breaking. You wonder how deeply he researched—what effort were you worth? He pours more water over your head and shields your eyes. 

God fucking dammit. You’re enjoying it. The pampering. The care. The gentle touch. You retch over the side of the tub, a dry convulsion of your stomach. His hand rubs over your back to soothe you. You want to scream. But you fall back into the lukewarm water, shivers running up your spine, and let him finish. The sooner he does, the sooner you stop that traitorous train of thought in its tracks. 

Once he completes the last step of his routine, he pulls the plug on the drain and leaves you in the murky, receding water. You let your fingers drift until it’s all gone, disgusted by the grime sloughed from your skin. 

“Oh,” he says, coming back to your side with a fluffy towel. He stares at the last dregs of water like you. “Maybe one last rinse, precious.” 

By the time you’re truly done with your bath, you can’t even complain when he helps you stand and wraps you in the fluffy towel. Relief flowing too heavy to fight him off. He cradles you close to his chest and runs his hands along your waist, reveling in your semi-compliant state. 

“There we go,” he sighs in delight. “Nice and clean.”

You grumble but can admit you feel much better. Your head clears as you stand there in his arms, despite the sickness still swirling around in your body and leaving a cloudy haze behind.

Andy escorts you out to the larger room. You glance around. But you halt your perusal, confused by the stranger from before seated at a small table. Before him spreads several papers. You’re sat beside him, Andy’s hands a firm weight on your shoulders. 

“Andy,” he addresses your captor, “why don’t we let her have a moment to herself?” 

Andy pipes up a noise of protest. “She needs to—”

“Andrew,” he admonishes, “give her a break.”

Andy sighs and squeezes your shoulders. You glance up at him. Irritation narrows his gaze. But they both leave. 

You gawk after them. Flabbergasted by the sway the older man has over Andy. The way Andy defers to him. Could this man really help you get out of here? You keep to your observations of them until the door shuts behind them, disbelief and suspicion waning. 

The room falls silent around you. With a chance for a better look around, you notice the light grey walls, the white crown moulding, the tufted headboard on the bed and matching furniture. It looks like someone threw up a Pottery Barn catalogue and a Live Laugh Love Pinterest board, and it congealed into this room. Not your style at all. You grimace. 

Another door stands in the corner—you pray for a closet. You walk over and open it, finding not much. A few frilly dresses, and that’s all. Your brow furrows in disappointment. Better than being naked, you grab one off the hanger and throw it over your head. At least there’s no zipper to grapple with. 

You tug and smooth the fabric over your stomach and legs. The dress not to your preference, it clings uncomfortably to your frame. Your feet find their way back to the table, you glance at the array of documents. Fingers flip through a few of them before your vision swims and the door opens again, just a crack. 

“Are you decent?” the stranger whispers through the small space. 

“As good as I’m gonna get,” you respond with a sigh and a hand massaging your forehead. 

With your reply, he sneaks into the room and closes the door behind him. He glances to the fingers still pressed to the papers and those kneading at your temple. 

“Did you get a chance to read through them?” he asks with a nod of his head toward the table. 

You shake yours. “But it looks like some kind of contract.”

“You’re right.” His hand raises to comb his hair back. It flops over and brushes his cheeks. “Mostly, it’s a non-disclosure agreement. A few other bits and pieces.” 

“For what?”

“Andy’s a lawyer,” he explains while taking a seat at the table. “He understands legal documents. I suggested this as a way to help you.” His hands sweep in a gesture above the papers.

“Why?” you ask, the words tinged with suspicion as you sink into the seat across from him. 

“Why what?” he asks with a tilt of his head. 

“Why do you want to help me?” 

The man lets out a heavy breath and stretches his hands across the table. “Andy’s my friend, but he needs help. I know that.” He presses a finger to the sheet closest to him. “This is what I can do. Get you someplace better. Make sure my friend gets what he needs. Make sure he never does this again.” 

Looking in his eyes, keeping your gazes locked, he doesn’t flinch or look away. He’s telling the truth. He wants to get you out, just like he said. You blink in shock.

“So if I sign these papers, it’s over?” you ask, hands finding their way to clutch together in your lap.

“It’s the only way I can see this getting better,” he replies with the same sincerity. He gathers everything up in a pile and hands it over. 

A pen sits by your hand and you lift it. You scan the first document, but with the headache and sinus pressure, it’s all legal jargon you can’t decipher before it becomes blackish grey mush in your eyes. Your head starts to spin. Before you can think better, your signature and initials sit on their respective dotted lines. 

The man breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he says, clipping everything together. Gratitude saturates each word, too saccharine. “It’ll be so much better now. I promise, you’ll enjoy the attic much more than the basement.” 

He keeps talking, but static fills your brain. The attic? Wasn’t he going to get you out? He said—he said…you can’t quite remember anymore. Your brain pounds behind your eyes. You clutch at your head. 

The door swings open and Andy charges in, beelining for his friend and flipping through the packet of papers. A smile growing wider and wider on his lips.

“She signed everything?” he asks, voice excited in a way you don’t like. 

“She did.” The older man pats your captor on the back. “Congratulations, you two. I’ll leave you to your honeymoon.” 

“What?” you mumble. A nauseous weight sits heavy on your chest. You can’t breathe. All air sucked out of the room.

The older man comes over to you, crouching and catching your eye. “It’ll be better,” he repeats, patting your hand. “Just you wait. That marriage certificate was exactly what he needed. He’ll take much better care of his wife.” He stands and presses a kiss to your forehead. You wipe your face in shock while he shakes Andy’s hand. He walks away and turns back for one last wave before closing the door to your new hell.

[twixitativi]

do you have any tips on writing an au? normal fics i can usually handle but i’m working on a kunichuu grease au and i’m finding it quite difficult.

hiya! thanks for asking :3 also good luck with that, that seems like so much fun omg; feel free to send when you start releasing, i'd love to check it out!

ill be using splinters as my example here purely because thats closer to what you're trying to do (movie/musical as reference)

this is going to be long as fuck because i tend to ramble and go into detail, so im adding a read-more. i sincerely hope this helps because i know its a LOT (potential spoilers for splinters included)

1. The Foundation

when i first started working on splinters, it started with a lot of idea bouncing. who would suit what role? why would that role work for them? originally, i had looked at dazai as jd and chuuya as veronica, or dazai as veronica with fyodor as his jd.

then, i also started thinking about story 'beats'. to be clear about what that means, i like to think of different parts/scenes that i need/want to hit, and kind of the order if possible. this usually intertwines with the original story-- in your case, grease.

all this starts falling into the next step:

2. Research

it may not be entirely apparent, but i did (and still do) a FUCK TON of research for splinters. by choosing to have multiple source materials to base your work off (both bsd AND grease), depending on how close/accurate you want to be, you're going to want to get in touch with the material.

you've mentioned grease-- i'm assuming you're doing this based off the movie (love the movie. need to rewatch). what i personally do with heathers the movie is that i watched it the entire way through first to refresh myself with the material. it might help you to take notes about different characters, ideas, plot lines. i found a copy of both scripts online in case i wanted to see about throwing an iconic line in during an important scene without diving through the whole movie to find it.

i dont know HOW historically accurate you want to go with your fic--you may be choosing to explore the concept of grease rather than the actual setting itself-- but grease takes place in the late 50s, TECHNICALLY early 60s (movie itself came out in the late 70s) (my mom LOVED it when it came out). so, you may want to do some basic research: fashions/trends of the time (this has gotten harder to search online, you may want to even run to the library and find some books if possible)? societal norms? what did normal teens do during that time? did they have arcades, did they go to restaurants, what was the average place they hung out at?

a lot of times, i have to double-check if some of the stuff in splinters is period accurate. each decade has different lingo, slang, and general information that was normal during it. hell, looking back at the 2010s versus 2020s, if you were to write a story during, saying, 2011, and have your characters saying "slay" and "yas queen" and "road work ahead, uh yeah i sure hope it does", i regret to inform you that that will NOT be accurate, as those phrases are more late 2010s + that vine came out in 2016. now, could you quote/potentially reference these things? absolutely! but you have to be more strategic about it.

ALSO. look up fun trivia about your source material! you know where i got my title from? its the english translation of the italian name for heathers. im not even kidding. also, mix and match material! hell, even throw references in to other material! i had my mean girls reference in there! because its bsd, i like to throw in authors i like from time to time where they fit!

another silly one: what music came out around that time, playing on the radio? HOW did they listen to music? i specifically listen to a 1989 top hits playlist when im trying to figure out what songs might be playing on the radio while my characters are driving-- and even THEN i still will look up specifically when that song came out, because i made the choice to be horribly specific with my timeline.

on that note:

3. If you can, DON'T SET A SPECIFIC MONTH/DAY/ETC.

i made my choices. do i regret them? YES. is it still fun to work with? absolutely, but also the heathers timeline is lowkey a mess and you could simultaneously claim it takes place in 2 months or several.

honestly, avoid specifics. having to keep track of a timeline is an absolute bitch, and it's going to make your life a lot harder, because then, you HAVE to make sure it all matches up. if i say that kunikida went and got his glasses in march, i cant say that his glasses are brand new in may (this is a hypothetical example).

timelines suck. unless you think you can dedicate the time and energy to keeping with one, don't do it.

4. OUTLINES.

i've been writing fanfics for years, which is wild to me. i was writing fanfics in single digits (didn't even know what fanfics were). one thing that i have especially found useful with splinters is to make outlines for where you want the story to go.

let me break it down for you:

you're gonna have MULTIPLE outlines, and they are NOT set in stone. they are guidelines for you to use so that you're not sitting there going "shit i don't know what to do next". they may be scenes you want to have in the fic. they may be important plot points. they may be absolutely stupid shit that youre like "if i dont get this in here i will cry" (diarrheazai is a threat that i intend to keep)

FIRSTLY. try making a general outline for your whole fic. you don't need super specifics, but think of what events occur during grease. in it, danny and sandy meet in the summer before their senior year. sandy meets and joins the pink ladies. there's a dance competition. danny and sandy fly off in a car into the sunset. etc. TO BE CLEAR, you don't have to keep all the details! it is your story, and what you want to do with it! having that structure can be helpful when you start though.

THEN. once you have that general outline? start trying to plan out chapters. you dont have to make outlines for them all at once. more often than not, i'll sit there before i start a new chapter just trying to outline what'll happen in it. this helps a LOT on multiple levels. i'll provide an example of what that can look like below (SPOILERS IF YOU'RE NOT UP-TO-DATE WITH SPLINTERS):

(the blacked out bit is spoilers, everything else should be clear to see)

a quick explanation: i dedicate a small document to outlines for each chapter. as you can see, with chapter beats, i have diff things i want to try to hit. the stuff highlighted in green is stuff that i come back post-chapter to confirm i hit. sometimes, if it's not EXACTLY in there, i'll leave a note in bold (ex: WAS MENTIONED).

but you can kind of see what im talking about here. i have some things that im trying to knock out per chapter.

other things in my doc to outline:

yes i talk to myself in my notes.

i highlight different scenes according to their relevance to certain characters sometimes; i add scenes in where i need to, and then ofc as you see ill go into detail about specific scenes. and AGAIN these are not set in stone. for example:

as you can see, shit changes over time. that boiler room make-out scene during the homecoming pep rally appeared in ch 11. i did not make this sequence fyodor's pov.

sometimes? i just dont have the time or energy to write shit/dont think its relevant to the plot. good bye, corn maze. you'll be remembered in my thoughts and my outline

also try to have fun while outlining. it doesnt need to be something serious. literally my outlines are a mix of dialogue, scenes, my own thoughts, etc. get silly with it. this is supposed to be fun and enjoyable!

ANOTHER THING:

5. LOOP SOMEONE INTO OBSESSING OVER THIS WITH YOU.

i was inspired by ardeidae to write splinters, and i have successfully trapped them in splinters world for almost an entire year now. by both of us loving it, we can keep ourselves focused on it.

what also helps is bouncing ideas off other people. me and lu have had conversation after conversation after conversation about different plot lines, scenes, etc. sometimes, i don't know what to do and i will ask lu (or other people) for advice about the progression.

you may have also heard of the engineering rubber duck method. if you're unfamiliar, engineers will sit there with a rubber ducky by them and talk to it about what they're working on until they figure out what they need to do. sometimes, just ranting about the fic is enough to help you spawn ideas about what to do next.

OH also

6. If you do end up making a timeline? Have a calendar on hand.

this is no longer 100% accurate to the progression of splinters and the chapters, but it helped a LOT. laying it out like this can make one hell of a difference. im a visual person, so doing this helped. also, can help you keep track of holidays and shit. if you want to give your characters a day off from classes, check a school calendar for holidays. be like "uhhhherrrr yeah they're taking, uhhhh veteran's day off" yk

7. Write, but don't force it.

splinters doesn't have an actual updating schedule because i work on it at my own pace, and update once i finish a chapter. now, i usually finish chapters after a month, but i don't say it updates on x day. don't box yourself in unless you truly think you can handle it. some people are very good about schedules. i am horrible at them, bc ykw? LIFE HAPPENS.

when im in the mood, i write. i will sit for HOURS and just write. grab some snacks, maybe pop on some music, get a buddy to sit with you, but just go for it. sometimes, i'll pull a 25-10 method-- 25 minutes of writing with ten minutes of relaxing and bullshitting--and that helps me not burn out as quickly. but honestly, you cant always brute force it.

have i had to brute force it sometimes? yes. you will get stuck. it naturally happens. sometimes, a scene fucking sucks and you're like "i hate this scene but it HAS to be in there" (if it doesnt fuck that shit. throw it out. blegh) sometimes, you need to mix things up to make it more appealing to you, because i am of the belief that the readers can tell when you're not invested in a scene. if im writing a scene and its going slowly and i just want to get it done? the quality's going to go down, and i KNOW it. so, i evaluate. what do i need to do for this scene to work? can i add something to help? do i need to just rewrite the bastard and call it a day?

and sometimes? you can just go ahead and put a little "<'scene'>" in and move on. depending on how much your fic relies on that scene, that won't always work, but sometimes, you just gotta leave it and come back to it. you can also do that with certain dialogue/details. if you're trying to get your characters from point A to point B, don't shove them there if they run out of gas. make a detour, and see what happens.

eerrrrrrr yeah, i THINK that's the majority of the advice i can give? sorry that that's a lot, but uhhh hope it helps! :')

[floor-archivist]

How to spend less money on college textbooks:

Now, this may not work for everyone. If you have a class that needs a book and an online access code or something, see if you can buy the access code separately.

Guide below the cut:

(Click images for better quality)

DO NOT BUY FROM THE BOOKSTORE! I think that’s a given but just in case. Avoid it at all costs, your school does not need more of your money.

1.     Friends: Before I send you on an internet goose chase, check around with some friends. Did they take your class last semester and maybe would be willing to loan you the book, or even sell it to you at a nice price? Well, that’s spectacular you don’t need this anymore!

2.     What you need to start your search:

Title

Author(s)

ISBN number

Edition of the book or Publication Year

Preferably have these somewhere you can copy from and paste into search bars on a computer.

3.    First Option: Library Genesis (https://libgen.rocks/index.php) Open this with an ad blocker, uBlock Origin is free and very good. If you’re not using an ad blocker, click carefully.

Type the ISBN or title and author into the search bar, in my example I’m looking for Biological Science by Freeman (5th edition). You may need to scroll down a little, the book I’m looking for didn’t show up till the 11th entry. This was the entry I ended up choosing:

[ID: A cropped screenshot of Library Genesis, showing the result for Biological Science, which reads, “Biological Science 5th Scott Freeman Pearson 2014 English 0/1418 187 MB pdf“ End ID]

Make sure the file type is a PDF, which it will say in the list on the far right. Now click on the title of the book. You will be brought to the page that looks like the following image:

[ID: A cropped screenshot of Library Genesis, showing the page for the book, Biological Science. It lists all the previous information in the last image, as well as a description of the book, the edition ID, when it was added to the website, when it was modified and the ISBN number. The cover of the book, which appears on the left side of the picture, shows a green reptile. Along the bottom of the picture is a smaller version of the book cover, which is circled in red. End ID]

Make sure everything matches up and this is in fact the correct book. If it is, click on the small version of the cover, next to the file size, circled in red in the above example. You will be brought to the following page:

[ID: A cropped screenshot of Library genesis, showing the cover of the book, Biological Science, as described previously. Above the book in a box, is the word “GET”, circled in red. End ID]

Click “get,” as shown in the image above, circled. Once you have clicked “get” the file should either start downloading immediately or ask where you want the file saved (depending on your preferences). Once it has finished downloading, open the file and make sure everything is in order. If you’ve made it this far, congratulations! You have pirated your textbook! Repeat as needed.

If this doesn’t work...

4.     Second Option: Your School’s Library

Search up your book in the online catalogue. If it does show up, amazing! Go to the library and check it out!

But some schools may have textbooks on something called “reserves.” In the example below, that is what is going on with my book.

Reserve means you need to go to the library staff and ask to borrow it, which you will then have a few hours to use the book as needed in the library (usually 2-3 hours).

[ID: A cropped image of a library search for the book, The First Days of School by Harry K. Wong and Rosemary T. Wong. To the left is a picture of the cover of the book, showing the name and authors in green lettering. Along the bottom of the search result is a section that shows the location of the book, the first part of which is blocked out, and reads “Reserves (Circulation Desk) (PERSONAL COPY)” End ID.]

4.5    Third Option: WorldCat / ILL

Go into the advanced search options of your library’s catalogue and click “WorldCat” as shown below:

[ID: A cropped image of a library search engine. It reads as follows, “Search criteria. Search for: Books, articles and more.” “WorldCat.” is circled in red. Below this lists options for fields of search, material types, languages, and dates. End ID.]

This will search the catalog of every school that participates in a program called InterLibrary Loans (ILL). It will allow you to request books to be sent to your school for free! Now, if you find your book this way, submit a request and you should get the book within a week or two!

Public Libraries also have a similar system, if you are looking for a very specific book you may be able to find it through that, check out your local libraries’ website for more info!

** I’m not sure how Universities outside of the US work, however there is a chance they have a similar system of loaning books between participating libraries. Check your library’s website, there should be something on there if they do have a similar system.

5.     Fourth Option: PDF Searches

Google search “filetype:pdf “(insert book name here)”” In my example shown below I’m searching for a book called "El español a través de la lingüística”

[ID: A screenshot of a google search. The search bar contains, “filetype:pdf "El español a través de la lingüística”” The images shows the first three results of the search. The first is a pdf file titled, “felix-brasdefer-2008-cortesia.pdf” the next is a website titled, “Introduccion A La Linguistica Espanola Azeveado 2009 (PDF)” the last is website titled, “Introduccion A La Linguistica Espanola 3rd Edition Spanish...” End ID]

This only brings up search results that are pdfs, making it more likely to be a textbook. In this search I was able to find chapter 9 of my textbook in a pdf. Look through all the results.

6.   Tips for if the previous things did not work:

Get a buddy in the class and split the cost!

Buy secondhand; try amazon, chegg, thriftbooks, ebay

Get a digital copy, paper costs money man, saves some trees too?

Get an earlier edition. Yes, they’re particular about them sometimes, but the information remains the same throughout each book usually, especially if they’re close in editions.

Rent them!

DO NOT BUY YOUR TEXTBOOK TILL YOU HAVE ACTUALLY SAT IN THE CLASS. You never know if you’ll have to drop it for some unforeseen circumstance, or maybe you’ll just hate the professor so much you just drop the class.

If the book is not a “textbook” but more like a “required reading” check with your local public library!

Talk to your professor! Some will let students borrow books for the whole semester if they can’t get them or are waiting on shipping. Some will even scan the books and print them for you! But this works best in universities with very small class sizes.

I hope this was able to help to at least spend a bit less money on textbooks this year! Thanks for reading! Last Updated on: 6/20/2023

[fandomchokehold]

I didnt wanna harass your comments so ill ask here, I'd love to add Samson to my small growin collection of people's peeps in bg3 that I get to doodle randomly and with my own. But before I accidentally draw em in a way he wouldn't act, who's the boy?

I see The Good Doctor and can assume from that a bit, and don't worry if ya didnt think that much about it. I'm weird with a old dnd character of mine as my Tav so I think too much into Tavs and their stories and know not everyone does XD

That's so cool! I would be honored for Samson to be a part of that group and don't worry I've been working on his personality and backstory since before I had the game lmao

full warning I've never played D&D so stuff is probably gonna be but I did what I could with a basic map of Faerun and the internet lol

full name is Samson Silversten, high half elf bard, he/him, 31 y/o

he's a 6'4" beanpole with broad shoulders and a strong (well strong for 9 strength) back and upper arms; he's practically covered in light freckles and has heterochromia (his right eye is a rich brown and his left is a golden hazel)

he's demisexual homoromantic which is basically just he's only romantically attracted to men and can only be sexually attracted to someone he knows well and is good friends with, basically romantic feelings have to exist before he can feel remotely sexually attracted (I hope that made sense?)

the most self indulgent part of this character is that he's Irish (his human dad was) and in my head he sounds like Hozier, both speaking and singing

his preferred instrument is the violin but he can also play the lute

he's somewhere between lawful good and lawful neutral, basing most of his morals on the doctor's oath and code of ethics and trying so hard to avoid violence at all costs though he knows when it's necessary like with the goblins in Act 1

he's a bit of a hoarder; he keeps every weapon, article of clothing, tool, food and drink, and gold piece he finds, but he will happily toss all that aside to fill his inventory with any medicinal item, book, or magic artifact for Gale

at camp he can usually be found at his tent or by the lake engrossed in some necromantic tome or copying surgical illustrations from medical textbooks into his personal journal

he loves taking early morning swims before anyone else has woken up (he's shy lol)

he is soooooo autistic (as am I) and will often get frustrated by things he doesn't immediately understand, sometimes goes non-speaking for a bit if he's overstimulated (usually by mouth noises)

for a bard he's not particularly suave or charismatic, usually reserving flowery language for songs and poetry

his main passion is medicine, he wants to be a doctor so he can help anyone in need while also contributing to the progression of science, he also has an interest in necromancy but couldn't afford wizard tuition 😔

actually got all of his proper medical knowledge from the library and "borrowing" material from private institutions like Blackstaff (he actually did borrow them since he would break in again and return them after copying everything into his own journals)

his mom who was a sun elf taught him everything he knows about medicinal plants while his human dad taught him everything he knows about baking, although he can't cook for shit (thank god he marries Gale)

his other skills he picked up while working on a ship as a kid after his parents died include fishing, tying knots, navigating the stars, sailing, and swordfighting; he's especially good with a rapier

I can't reiterate enough how much he loves medicine and being a doctor he will help anyone in need of medical assistance like one time he wasted some salve and gauze on a rat in an alley cuz it was bleeding out from losing its foot; the rat lived lmao

he's very sweet and chooses to see the good in everyone, also fairly perceptive; Astarion didn't need to bite him for Sam to know he was a vampire he could tell as soon as they met but didn't say anything cuz it was Astarion's business to tell him

he gets flustered and shy very easily when people are obviously hitting on him, usually at a loss for words just goes beet red and wide eyed, tries everything he can to leave (Lae'zel: "I want to taste you" Samson: 🏃‍♂️💨)

I think that's about it sorry if it's a lot this isn't even the half of it lol

Thank you again for being interested in Samson! I appreciate you wanting to draw him and you've actually encouraged me to post some of the things I've written for him so I'll have to work on finishing those when I have a day off 💕