#this entire novel feels like a fever dream because i keep not reading for a while and then coming back to it in a daze

[ramblings-of-a-sad-poet]

poor Lanyon????

[moorishflower]

hi!! im absolutely astounded at the amount of depth and heart thats in all your fics, and im also very floored at the amount at which you write—im at a cross between admiration and maybe jealously lol!! I wanted to ask, are there any fic of yours (sandman or not) that you think are underrated/deserves more attention?? super excited for everything you ever write!!

asdfg anon thank you <3 So I have a Problem where I have a lot of anxiety about what I create, and when that's writing, if I am not writing The Next Great Novel, then I need to sate the brain demons SOMEHOW, and writing a LOT is the easiest way to do that. I want very badly to please people, and fortunately it's not a hardship for me to write the amount that i do, though I AM trying to consciously like. Take breaks if I need? Take a night off? Keep it healthy looool. But that I'm able to write things that people are consistently finding value and meaning in is a continuous and beautiful marvel to me so thank you, thank you very much!!!

So I read your second part of the ask wrong at first and had gathered uh several fics which I think are underrated that are NOT mine

One Half of a Whole by @violetequus8 - Absolutely REMARKABLE post-apocalyptic literature. Equus captures an entire world and history in 4000 words. There are sentences in this fic that rewrote my brain chemistry.

The entire like this slumber that creeps to me series by @tobrokenstone - THIS. This is survival the way I fucking LOVE IT. Bleak, stark, hard decisions, lasting consequences, surprisingly tender cannibalism (this last may be...specific to me and a few select others lol)

Once again repping the point-set-triangulation series by therm0dynamics, which is singlehandedly the series that got me into Hob/The Corinthian (it's about MIRRORS it's about PARALLELS)

And at this point I realized that you'd asked about which of MY fics I think are underrated, and I was just so caught up in the thought of repping my friends that I lived in a world where I did not write for a moment loool

Salt and Rye is the result of a prompt on tumblr. I wanted to try and capture that feeling of recreating a parent or grandparent's recipe and failing, because it's SUCH a disheartening moment, but I wanted to make it lighter, because Hob has someone there to share the comedy of it with him.

Here there be dragons is my latest fic in the Siren AU and I do think that people who aren't into scifi in general will be more likely to give it a pass, but I'm very proud of it, and very proud of the emotions it evoked in ME, and I promise it's not hard scifi like The Martian or even really pervasive scifi like Star Trek! I just tried to think realistically about what our planet would look like and feel like in 1500 years, and how we might need to leave it. Also, Dream's still a carnivorous octopus man.

an act of faith is the vampire fever dream that struck me at like 3pm on a Saturday and I blacked out for like two hours and this was what I'd written during that time. I enjoy writing obscene levels of devotion and you can't really get much more obscene than "willing to tempt death year after year even though no one's asked you to in order to prove to YOURSELF that your lover loves you"

Honestly I don't think many of my fics are underrated! They're all written at different points in my development and my understanding of myself as a writer, and they range pretty widely in terms of theme and genre sometimes, so some, statistically, are going to be kind of niche! And that's okay! I guess the only thing I'd say is that even if you think something isn't your jam, unless the tags are specifically triggering you give it a try! The worst thing that'll happen is you get a paragraph in and then back out again. An extremely smart person (it was @xx-vergil-xx <3) recently said something along the lines that part of healthy interacting with art is also knowing when to put it down, but it's also important to give different things a chance so that you learn more about yourself and your preferences. I myself am trying to expose myself to and write more angst? Because it makes me deeply uncomfortable to do so! But that's a valuable feeling to know and recognize! Idk i just think we all get different stuff out of writing and it's just nice that I've been able to provide something to so many people <3

[princess-of-purple-prose]

i wanna get into ORV but i still don’t understand it 😭😭

CACKLES SO FUCKING LOUDLY (Caps: cackles so fucking loudly). Ahem. [cracks knuckles]

Okay so ORV (Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint) is a webnovel which is currently being adapted into a webtoon, and I really enjoy both!! But if I had to pick one, it's the webnovel no question <3 I talked about accessing both here!

I went into it completely and entirely blind except for the main character's name, which was probably the best thing I've done for myself all year, but my summary for you (which I had to stop myself halfway through and cut down for size THRICE):

ORV follows Kim Dokja, an isolated and lonely office worker whose contract is expiring and whose only (and I mean only) joy in life is a massively long, horrendously convoluted webnovel called "Three Ways to Survive in a Ruined World". He is the only reader in the entire world of this novel, as everyone else had long since fallen off about ten chapters in due to the fact that it fucking sucks-- but that means that when his subway ride home is interrupted by the world ending in exactly the way it does in his favorite story, he's also the person with the best chance in all the world to see the apocalypse through to a happy ending.

The novel, as indicated by the title and premise, is SO meta, and never in a cheesy or grating way-- ORV chews you up and spits you out with how incisively, brilliantly, and beautifully it works its themes, and every single character and character dynamic will grip you by the motherfucking throat. It is the funniest thing I've ever read and I've almost cried about it in public multiple times and I keep zoning out and staring into the middle distance during dinner because I keep having new belated realizations about its ending. It may look long and intimidating, but it doesn't FEEL long because the pacing is incredible, and also it constantly lampshades itself by acknowledging that the in-universe apocalypse is incredibly stupid and by having multiple scenes where the characters lay out past plot points in great detail and then go "wow this sucks and is stupidly overcomplicated." ORV is complex and beyond intelligently written, but it never takes itself too seriously, and it's better for it <3

ORV is hard to explain because it is so much all the time. In the best possible way, half the time it sounds like a fanfic-y fever dream. Kim Dokja IS bisexual and he IS autistic and he IS INSANE. It is impossible to encapsulate because everything I could say about it would fall short of its actuality, and Tumblr functions on recommending things through hyperbole but ORV is literally just like that. ORV is about the power of fiction and it's about meeting your blorbo in the flesh and immediately annoying him so bad he tries to kill you and it's about staggering, world-defying love of every kind and it's about your friends kinkshaming you and it's about learning to live with the fact that you deserve to live. I will, very genuinely, never be the same after reading it. This is the worst rec post in the world and I sincerely apologize. Please read ORV

[eurydicees]

13, 14, 15, & 23 for the fanfic end of the year asks? :D

some questions !! under the cut bc this got long :)

13. favorite writing song/artist/album of this year

hmmm just based on the fact that i wrote a whole fic inspired by it (read: i listened to it on repeat while writing), i’m gonna have to say heat waves by glass animals. the fic itself isn’t really inspired by the song, but i went insane abt it a little bit. it was my no. 1 song of 2022 lmfao. anyways go read fever dreams; or, love in the time of heat waves for some real brain rot 

14. a fic you didn’t expect to write

oooh interesting. i’m gonna say just let me kiss you once because i’d never really pictured myself writing atsuiwa before! i’m pretty iwaoi ride or die, not gonna lie to you, so it was waaaay out of my comfort zone to write one of them with someone else! i’m fairly satisfied with how it came out though, and i looove the atsuiwa dynamic already so it was exciting to try something new out. 

15. something you learned this year

oh so so so much tbh. it was a year of growth not gonna lie to you. regarding writing, though, i think i really learned that i. don’t actually want to publish original fiction professionally. like it used to be a really big dream, like The Dream, the ultimate goal in my life, to publish a real novel or some kind of writing. it was kinda my whole goal in life, to become a published author. but idk, i think i’ve realized that i don’t really want that anymore. i’m happy to keep writing on the side and just do my silly little fanfic for fun! i’m really satisfied with the little thing i’ve got going on here, where i write for fun and just publish what i feel like, instead of making it, like, a career. becoming an actual established author is no longer a life dream of mine tbh and i think i realized that i just wanna write for fun instead of work. it was kinda a huge wake up call that i’m not happy with the life path i’d been pursuing for literally my entire life. it’s funny how things change. 

23. fics you wanted to write but didn’t

oh man. there are SO many. i keep all of my drafts in one doc rather than starting sixteen thousand new docs every time i have an idea, so i can with say i have more than 80k words worth of drafts of fics i wanted to finish but never got around to. here are some of the main ones, though: 

a longform kyoya-centric fic! it was a study into the hosts’ relationships post-canon and their development as adults, as well as kyoya being dumb and gay. the tagline was “So: Kyoya graduated from Ouran Academy, got on a plane to Boston Logan Airport, and conveniently forgot to give anyone his international phone number.” 

the sakuatsu fake dating fic!!

and while we’re on the subject, the matsuhana fake dating fic 

the iwaoisuga fic we’ve been talking about :P 

oh and ofc all the requests i said i would get to and then . never actually wrote lol. i’ll get to them eventually, really, i swear….

[bidokja]

I so agree w that post where you described orv as a fever dream bc SAME. People are out there complaining abt their media like how "part x had bad pacing" "they ruined char x development" "bad writing" and then orv here is just??? Seemingly flawless?? Like all the characters and their developments are important and amazing, the concepts of like trauma (as you said)/other psychological topics are so well represented and there's literally a god given incredibly unique meta plot that hits u in all the right spots with all it's very unpredictable plot twists (at least fr me)

and the ending?? God the ending is what stories are supposed to do. it feels like a summation of everything up to that point and everything makes sense and your just there losing ur mind and dying bc every new thought u have hits u like a truck. It's like. the story of all time.

And tbh i think it's severely underrated, even amongt webtoons. Not to be a sore loser but if it was an anime or smn, i think it would have WAYY more hype than it has rn. Little to no large media I've consumed are as consistent as orv is. Like I genuinely think that this is just the beginning and that it has a long way to go in the next few years. I can't wait for the last ep of the live adaptation or whatever lol <3

LIIIIIIITERALLY THIS ORV IS SO GOOD ITS JUST TOO DAMN GOOD!!!

that being said!! i have Thoughts xhsjd

i'm on the fence about how i feel irt other adaptions of ORV, since ORV is best consumed as a web novel imo. the whole point of it, the biggest impact, is that you are Reading this Novel just like KDJ was at the very start of the series. his name itself means Reader. it's an important detail both for him individually and for ORV as a whole, thematically.

while i do like Seeing certain scenes illustrated, there is much about ORV that works best (or ONLY works) because it is a story of Words. still, i do like that it means we will keep getting more ORV content, and hopefully i will be pleasantly surprised by some well done adaptions down the road!

anyways yeah like. ORV is just so?? Well Done. Put Together (surprising given how messy it also is dksdjdkd). i can only think of...two or three complaints about ORV? and NONE of it is like...heavily consequential to what it is meant to convey, or even beyond personal taste of mine.

1) The inconsistent and sometimes inaccurate translations (which isn't the original writing's fault, plus i read it for free so i'm not about to lodge a formal complaint here or anything).

2) the lgbtphobia isn't a cute look i'll be real but it is unfortunately something i will choose to read past in cases where its not like, the point or focus imbedded into the media itself. it is not one of the take-aways or themes of the series.

3) in my opinion, there is actually a noticeable lack of various characters' interactions and developments, but this was likely done (mostly, though not fully) on purpose. i believe it's a writing decision fueled by the same Thing as their decision to have the novel be almost entirely in 1st person...and then slowly have more and more chapters where it's Not. it's about the impact, and what this lack of interaction/communication (and When it is most prominent) and what this viewpoint shift Convey thematically, qs well as the impact this has shown for the characters themselves at times. *points back at the ORV Is A PTSD Allegory thing*

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Whump you say? Geralt gets Hanahaki

I’ve been waiting for you, Anon. I’ve been waiting for this prompt specifically and boy when I tell you I might have cried writing it...

2k ish (a little less) words long. Idk why y’all were worried, it’s me. It’s gonna have a happy ending.

tw: Hanahaki, blood mention, illness, angst with a happy ending, whump with a happy ending ---

It had started up just before they parted ways for the winter; Geralt had quietly coughed a handful of rose petals into the corner of his cloak and hidden them from sight as Jaskier gave him their yearly parting embrace. “See you in the spring, Geralt!”

“Hmm.”

You might not ever see me again, actually, the Witcher thought. He tried not to let anything show on his face; not his fear and certainly not his longing, but he ached to tell Jaskier that he loved him and that he’d miss the bard’s presence through the long and dreary cold of the winter months. Geralt also knew that if he told Jaskier the truth about his feelings that he may never set eyes on the bard again anyway, regardless of how the disease currently wracking his body developed over their time apart. He was sure that Vesemir could identify whatever the strange illness was; the old swordmaster might even have a cure ready to go in the old storeroom. If not, they could send for Triss. 

“Safe travels.”

“And you as well,” Geralt nodded curtly. He mounted Roach with all his usual grace and ease, biting back another cough and tasting the sickly sweet floral note of rose rising up his throat to coat his tongue again. 

---

“Fuck,” Vesemir sighed. “It’s Hanahaki disease, Geralt. It’s not going to be easy to cure now that the pass is full of snow.”

“What’s Hanahaki disease?”

“It’s-” the eldest Wolf Witcher scrubbed his hand over his bearded face and took a moment to compose himself. He’d seen it happen before. He’d seen human bodies buried in the ground with entire root systems crawling from their chest cavities. He’d watched young men and women alike cough entire violet or rose or daisy buds from their mouths while they shivered with fever and seemingly unending pain, but a Witcher? Vesemir hadn’t even thought it was possible for a Witcher to contract such a frivolously deadly illness. “I don’t know exactly how to explain this to you, Geralt.”

“I won’t go screaming into the hills, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” his middle-child joked, “I can’t run very far anymore without a coughing fit.”

“I can’t send for Triss or Yennefer, either. They won’t be able to do anything,” Vesemir spoke calmly and evenly. Geralt, propped against some pillows on adoptive-father-enforced bed rest raised an eyebrow. “It’s a disease that eats at you from the inside out. It latches on to, uhm, romantic feelings and grows with them until it overtakes its host completely. Or until the host, uh… confronts those feelings head on and admits them to the object of their affection.”

“So this is…” Geralt’s eyes were wide and terrified. The eldest Wolf had never seen the stoic boy look quite so scared before, and he’d seen him go through the Trials. “This is going to kill me, is what you’re saying.”

“Who are you in love with, you stubborn oaf!?” Lambert cried, marching into the room from where he’d been lurking in the hall. He startled the other two Wolves and Geralt coughed out another handful of petals. The blood that came with them was surprisingly new. 

“What do you mean!?”

“He means,” Vesemir said, as slowly as possible (so that even the great Geralt of Rivia would understand his situation), “That until you tell this person how you feel, the flowers inside you will continue to grow and dig their roots in and, if you never tell them how you feel at all, you will eventually die.”

“Then I guess my fate is sealed,” Geralt smiled sadly, settling himself back against the pillows. “My time as a Witcher is up. Coughing up flowers isn’t the worst way to go, all things considered.”

Lambert growled angrily. “I’m not ready to lose my brother yet, Geralt, so just tell us who you’re pining after and we’ll go fetch her back!”

“No.”

“Why the fuck not?!”

Geralt, growing increasingly more feverish and already exhausted from everything that had happened that afternoon, closed his eyes. “Because he deserves better than me, Lambert. He deserves so much more than I could ever give him and I’m not about to steal him away like a selfish ass and force my feelings onto him for my own sake. I’d rather die.”

“Self-sacrificing bastard,” the youngest of the Wolf Witchers snarled, storming from the room. “Ass! Cock! Fool!”

Vesemir could only nod his agreement and follow silently after.

---

Jaskier read the letter once.

Then he read it again.

After a third time through he was sure that he hadn’t misunderstood the contents.

Dear Jaskier (aka Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, Prof. of the Seven Liberal Arts at Oxenfurt),

I am Eskel, brother to Geralt of the Wolf Witcher School at Kaer Morhen. I write to you now to ask for your presence at the keep. Geralt has fallen gravely ill and will not likely make it through the season. He does not know that I have written to you, but as his best friend and companion on the Path, I thought it my duty to invite you to see him one last time before he’s gone for good. He’s loathe to admit it, but he misses you and fears for your safety come springtime.

Sincerely,

Eskel of the Wolf School

Somewhere beneath the bright embroidery of his doublet and the hand-woven muslin of his chemise, Jaskier’s flighty, deeply-loving heart shattered into a million pieces. 

He grabbed his heaviest woolen cloak from its peg near the door and made for the stables at once.

---

“Geralt!”

The White Wolf opened his eyes a sliver to confirm that he wasn’t hallucinating again; ah yes. What a lovely last dream to have before I die. Standing in the middle of his bedroom at Kaer Morhen, covered with still-melting snow, was Jaskier. The bard’s blue eyes were brimming with tears and his bottom lip was wobbling violently as he gazed upon the Witcher’s withering form.

“Geralt, what’s wrong? Your father and brothers sort of explained it to me but I’m still not sure what’s happening. You’re dying?”

“Don’t worry, bard,” Geralt smiled. A loud, sudden cough wracked his body and he bent over double, spitting a blood-spattered but fully-bloomed rose out into his cupped palm. He laughed joylessly and tossed the bloom onto his bedside table. “I’ll be out of your hair, soon. Won’t this be a last ballad to write, a wolf dying as he’s eaten by flowers?”

“I don-”

“Hush,” Geralt rasped. Jaskier dropped his cloak to the ground uncaringly and rushed to his Witcher’s side. He sat on the edge of the mattress and took Geralt’s closest hand in his, grasping the appendage to his chest and sobbing into the sword-calloused skin like his tears might save his best friend’s life. “Don’t be sad, Jaskier.”

“I am sad, Geralt! I’m absolutely fucking terrified and heartbroken and crushed! Vesemir said you could heal this at any time but you just… you just won’t because you’re stubborn and an idiot and the sweetest goddamn man I’ve ever met in my life! How dare you tell me goodbye when you are perfectly capable of fixing this problem yourself! How could you promise to see me in the spring and then break your word by dying well before the grass turns green again?! You bastard!”

“You won’t miss me after another year passes,” Geralt reassured him, flexing the hand still held tight in Jaskier’s grip. “You won’t even remember me by the time the first daisies spring up.”

“How dare you,” the bard cried again. He pressed a nervous kiss to the tip of the Witcher’s pointer finger before letting go completely and dropping his head into his own hands. “How dare you say those things to me when you know full well that I love you with all my stupid, fragile mortal heart. You asshole.”

“Wh...what?” 

“I love you, Geralt!” The Witcher stared up at his friend with nothing but confusion written across his handsome features. Jaskier reached out, wiping a smear of blood away from the corner of Geralt’s mouth as tenderly as any maiden in any of the bard’s favorite romance novels. “I love you and I’ll never forgive you for letting yourself die on me like this.”

Geralt blushed. He stammered. He coughed up two or three more bloody roses and Jaskier tossed them all into the fire with rage blazing in his cornflower irises. 

“I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything on this gods-forsaken Continent and now you’re going to take yourself away because you’re, what, scared of something? Is it Yennefer? If she’s refusing to help you then I’ll ride all the way to Vengerberg by daybreak and then I’ll break all her fucking fi-”

“I love you, too.”

“What?” Jaskier asked, stopped mid-rant and mid-thought by the Witcher’s sudden admission. “What did you just say to me, Geralt? If I didn’t misunderstand, you said you loved me too.”

“I did. I do! I have loved you for a rather long time, actually.”

“Well, I’m glad we’ve settled that,” Vesemir said from the doorway. He turned on his heel and disappeared. “See you both for breakfast tomorrow, I’m sure. Well... maybe breakfast is being a bit optimistic. I’ll see you for lunch.”

“What did he mean?” the bard asked. His eyes flitted between the empty doorway and Geralt’s guilty grimace. “What the fuck did Vesemir mean when he said he’d see us at lunch?! You’re still clearly dying and I-”

Geralt felt his fever receding and coughed experimentally. There were only a few brown, half-dried petals that fell from his lips. No blooms. He coughed again and nothing came out of his mouth at all. He grinned and laughed, tugging Jaskier up onto the bed and against his broad chest. “Vesemir was right!”

“What the fuck is going on?!” the bard begged. His hands twisted into the neckline of Geralt’s shirt, holding him still and steady. Blue bore into gold with such heated intensity that the Witcher thought he might pass out regardless of his recently healed disease, “What just happened!?”

“I- I told you I loved you and it cured the Hanahaki!”

“You had fucking Hanahaki and I was the cause of it? Oh Geralt, I’m so sorry! I should have noticed sooner! I should hav- Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“I didn’t think you loved me back.”

“You didn- Geralt, have you been paying any sort of attention for the past seven or so years? I follow you everywhere, I bandage your wounds, I put food on your plate and a pillow under your head whenever we get the chance. I bathe you and mend your clothes when your fingers are too stiff from practicing your forms to do it yourself… you utter fool. You buffoon. You great, dumb, goofy, idioti-”

He was cut off by Geralt bringing their mouths together with such gentle but insistent pressure that all Jaskier could do was melt against him. His hands unwound from the shirt and stabilized against the Witcher’s pectorals instead. He sighed into Geralt’s mouth, swallowing down the happy sounds his dearest Witcher made in return. When they were finished pouring out their affections they sat, breathless, curled against the pillows of Geralt’s enormous bed. 

A large pointer finger slipped beneath Jaskier’s chin and tilted his face up, locking their gazes, “This isn’t how I wanted you to meet my family or see Kaer Morhen for the first time, but I’m glad you came. I know the journey through the snow couldn’t have been easy, even though I’m sure there was some magical assistance.”

“For you, my love, I’d travel the pass barefoot.”

“You’d die of exposure.”

“Not if your life was on the line,” the bard murmured against those flower-chapped lips. “For you, Geralt, I could survive anything. Just as you must swear from this moment on to survive whatever you can to make it back to me.”

“Will you go back to the academy until spring?”

“I’m never leaving your side again, Geralt of Rivia. Come flora or fauna, you’re stuck with me for good.”

“Hmm. Good.”

“Just… Just don’t bring me flowers any time soon.”

[sanghyukstattoos]

Sanghyuk et al

Summary: Sanghyuk has just moved in with you but your sudden sickness propels him to take care of you

Genre: Fluff-fluff-fluff

Characters: Dawon I Lee Sanghyuk x Reader (Gender Neutral)

A/N: For SF9, read here; for iKON, read here and for optional bias writings, read here

The birds relentlessly chirp in the morning and each flutter of breeze picks up stray leaves. The sky is dull today, filled with darkening clouds and an unanimated scenery of the greened heath. You groan, heavily turning on your side. Sanghyuk's arm falls from your waist. The heat has overtaken the room, the fan fails its function despite the constant rotation of its edges.

In the darkness of the peering light that shines through the windows, you reach out for Sanghyuk's arm. His light snores alert you of his deeply sleeping state, but you grasp onto him, pulling yourself closer. You aren't too close, just enough to completely view his puffy cheeks. The bed holds you down from getting up, every touch from the comforter urging you to free yourself from the confines of trapped discomfort.

Your head snaps towards him, presumably as a result of his groggy ''hello'' and small, indefinite words of nonsense mumbled under his breath. He swings a leg over yours, chuckling at the groan that escaped your lips. Bare weight aches your tired body, huffing in contempt as you throw his leg away and swing yours over his waist. The room looked derelict because the two of you had barely managed to set the heavy bed down before spreading yourself over the clean sheets and falling asleep.

It's hotter these days so it has become harder to move his stuff into your house. You avoided the kitchen at all costs, waiting on him to cook and instead pulled stuff out of his cardboard boxes that were hardly labelled. In a matter of moments, dust had spilled from the tops and flew into your nostrils making your head spin as it was today morning.

You look at him as he spreads his arm out for you to lay on it. Upon contact do the two of you find immediately alarming is the difference in temperatures. Your forehead is warm, in fact. Your entire body radiates a pulse of heat so strong, he knows that you are not having a great morning. You whinge from the sensation of distant ache, foreign in its location but ever present. You clutch your head, trying to locate the pain.

He says something, then gently takes you into his arms, already aware that something was happening to you. He doesn't like it but he can not combat it with a sword or menacing words, it's beyond his ability. Simply, he cuddles you. His hand finds your leg and he pulls you closer. And in soothing motions, he massages your temples.

Your eyes are closed and have been, since the light persisted that you keep them shut. To no avail can see his face but you can feel the relief that overcomes you, albeit temporarily. The pain will return but he was still there, reading your facial expression and massaging where he can. It goes past him that he can contract a fever as well.

''Let's eat something'' he motions, pulling up your fatigued body with him. You go along with his movements, head slumping onto his shoulder. You groan in disbelief at the pain that runs through your body, seeping into your back and limbs as if you had completed a work-out against your will. Was it about the will though?

The two of you are completely worn out. You don't know how you managed it but you are at the table now. A bowl of soup is being cooked in the microwave, Sanghyuk stands over it, watching it carefully. His eyes occasionally flit to you, checking that you are held up and not two seconds from passing out. You smile, thinking of how the croutons are being crisped alive.

Their edges are being smoothed out and you can already taste them on your tongue despite not being able to remember the last time you had soup. Why is soup a good cure for headaches? You ponder this but receive no answer and proceed to lean on the table. You jolt before your head hit the wood, coming back with your heart painfully thumping against your chest when his voice pierces the silence.

You glare at him but you are on the verge of tears. You hold them back. However, you are secretly aware that you have reached the end of the line. Your pain is so bad that after not expressing it properly, you are unable to do anything but cry. You eat the soup in silence and thank you for the soup. You remember to breathe and take a more novel approach to the situation.

However, you can not remember why you wanted to cry in the first place.

You pause, turned towards him and ask, ''What are you going to eat?'', resuming straight after you had finished speaking. You are devouring the soup, unbeknownst to you. In reality, your hands are moving quite slowly, drained of energy but you are hungry. He plays with your hair, hands drifting to wherever he can comfort you with his touch, knowing that you are aching but you are not speaking about it.

He waits till you pause to take a breath and says, ''I'll make a sandwich if I can, don't worry about me.''. You hum and nod, finishing the contents of the bowl that had once made you wonder if you were going to finish it. He ignores the rumbling of his own stomach and pulls you into his arms, carrying you back to bed. ''It's just faster this way huh?'' you mumble, clutching onto his shoulders as he lays you onto it.

He smiles, hearing something that only you would say at a time like this. He takes light steps after hearing your mumblings of ''thanks babe'' as he leaves to grab something of importance. It takes less time than you think. You feel uncomfortable because of how hot it is but you fall asleep regardless. When you close your eyes, you experience vivid dreams.

He makes you take a tablet and then fall asleep again, opening the windows for fresh air. Fresh air circulates the room and random bursts of breeze make you feel better in your sleep. You snore, causing him to take a snap and save it to complete his agenda of retaliation. As he looks out of the window, he sees the city beginning to come alive, the moment wrecked by your humorous mumblings that made it sound as if there was another person in the room.

''Jesus...'' he says. He walks over to give you a kiss, leaving the room to unpack.

[hoodedwing]

Soldier, Tell Me

Summary: Roy may have banished his demons but we know that demons, and bad habits die hard.

Characters: Jason, Roy, Cheshire and Lian

Warnings: Implied shipping? (not really actually), Drug abuse, depressive thoughts, major canon death. Vomiting and blood

Additional Notes: This was the 3k fic I spent months working on. I hope you like it as much as I did writing it :))

Word Count: 3,499 words 

***

Jason drums his fingers against the handles as he leans a little and presses himself into the seat. His earpieces played some old school song that he didn't bother changing as he took a left turn to a rather deserted road.

Up ahead, a huge building stood in relative isolation, save for a scatter of trees. Jason flips the indicator and takes another right towards the entrance of the car park before finding a small, vacant spot and parking his bike. Switching off the bike, he took a deep breath of the deep gasoline smell lingering.

It assaulted his senses in a good way, preparing him for what was going to happen incoming. He doesn’t know how to start everything with Roy. It’s not as if he could strike up a conversation about a mission like the yesteryears. He couldn’t slide up to him, smile and talk straight away to have expectations that Roy could catch up to speed.

He could try. Pretend everything was normal. Pretend everything was okay and that no one was sinking underneath the weight. Pretend they were still happy despite being scarred all the way through.

He had to accept the fact that Roy was probably in a cleaner slate than when he last saw him. Sometimes, he felt irrational hatred at himself for not seeing it earlier, for not stopping him, A part of him felt that he could’ve saved Roy from hell. He could be the barrier, the small glass shard that held the rest of the pieces up.

Hell, nothing could’ve almost prevented him from collapsing onto the floor when he found Roy out cold on the unforgiving tiles of the damp bathroom floor, a used needle on the floor and empty syringes. A discarded lighter and spoon told the shameful truth Jason wanted desperately to not be true, to not be real, to simply fade and become a figment of his imagination, a hallucination to be exact. An unresponsive Roy sent Jason towards a panicked call to the ER and a shot of Narcan he had in his military-grade belt. There was a splutter and then the vomiting out the offender and the slight feverish touch of the skin. Jason carded his hair and tore a piece of his shirt to keep his forehead cool and try to get his fever down.

Jason had waited outside the ER with trepidation, hoping he really caught him in time. Nurses came in and went. Oliver Queen was suddenly there and Jason doesn’t know what’s next but he sees Dinah Lance as well and all he could pray was that Queen hadn’t disowned Roy. All he registered was a faint squeeze of a shoulder and a soft voice of “He’ll be fine, they’re good at what they do.”

He doesn’t know what to do as he pushes himself off the bike and locks it twice to double-check. Tossing his bag over his shoulder which had a spare set of clothes, shoes and essentials for Roy, he shoves his keys in his jean pockets and his other gloved hand tightening around a Narcan jab.

-

He’s at the counter.

Jason lazily leans against one of those plastic colored chairs that's plain uncomfortable to sit on. His eyes draw slowly towards the anti-drug videos playing on the screen. Sometimes he wonders if it remotely worked, at all as he watched a video on psychedelics and withdrawal symptoms. He thinks about how the initial years would be hell, suddenly the high was taken away and the addict was suffering. He was shaking, chills and absolutely losing it. He briefly thought about heroin and opium. Then he hears the low whine of machines and the counter number calling for him.

He tiredly gets up and waits at the counter, an all too smiling nurse who kindly gave him a bunch of paperwork to sign. His grip on the pen was so loose the nurse had to gently remind him that his hands were shaking. Steeling himself, he signs the last few release papers.

“You don’t look old to be Mr Queen, don’t you?”

“I’m..I’m his friend. Here to take him home.”

He exhales, a hand in his frazzled bangs making everything a little more messy. The nurse takes it as her cue to take Roy and she leaves.

Jason tries to not imagine what Roy might look like after an entire year. In his dreams, it’s either he was a bag of bones or a hollowed face. Other days, he couldn’t see him, it was a blur of shadows and nothing much. All he remembers is the empty longing for his companion to make his trio complete. Sure, Artemis and Bizarro were lovely company but Roy was the one who truly understood him to the core. He knew so much about Jason it was almost as if he was psychoanalyzing him instead. Roy knew Jason’s preferences like straight black coffee, novels with petrichor or simply a rainy day. He knew too much to not be there and it ached Jason’s bones badly.

He wouldn’t admit it, he missed his best friend.

The nurse returns and the first thing Jason registers is the way Roy’s threadbare olive shirt was hanging off his shoulder blades. The constant micro adjustments he did to push the shirt back up to the collarbone to hide the rest of the boned wisp of a muscled and lean man he once was. The same went for his jeans, rolled up at his shins and looking half-dead yet terrified. He shuffled his feet and chewed rather loudly at a ridiculously pink bubblegum. Jason hasn’t had the chance to look into his eyes and see how much was lost.

Suffice to say, Jason needed time to get Roy back to himself completely. He quietly hoped that there was enough Roy to heal back.

Roy finally looks up and smiles imperceptibly, the corners of his mouth curving up as he held a hand out to Jason. The bones were jutting out and it hurt so much to just take his own hand and try to not shatter his fragile ones. Scarred ones with numerous arrows he’s shot in another life.

Another life, Jason reminds himself, something stinging behind his eyes.

Jason stands up and gently embraces Roy, almost afraid of breaking his body completely into nothing. Roy returns the embrace, his hand running down Jason’s back. The nurse was holding Roy’s bag which Jason quickly snags with his free hand and quietly nodded as a sign of gratitude to the lady who walked away to rejoin her colleagues.

“Jason, I’m gonna go home, right?”

Jason lets Roy lean into him, lets him take in the warmth of his leather jacket he’s never quite ditched and into the sleeve of his ash-colored shirt. It was almost light-weight as he half-drags Roy into the carpark and towards his bike.

“Yeah, I'm taking you home."

He pretends to ignore Roy's rather weak grip around his midsection as he revved up the bike and drove out of the centre hopefully for the last time. 

-

Jason made the last turn to his safe house he spent some months converting into a livable house to aid Roy's recovery. The few azaleas he's grown are starting to gain height as he takes the bags and a half-asleep Roy to his doorstep. With some difficulty, he hunts for his keys from his pocket as quickly as possible before anyone nearby starts questioning him.

The door opens with a lazy whine as Jason hurriedly dumps the bags on the couch and drags Roy to his own bedroom. He lowers him gently onto the bed softly before opening his closet and fetching out a pair of his own clothes. He leaves them at the foot of the bed, pre-empting Roy needing to take a shower when he wakes up.

He heads back to the kitchen and starts prepping for a simple soup. After adding the last few vegetables (Roy needed strength on a weak stomach) and closing the lid to let the soup simmer, he takes out the folder of discharge papers alongside a whole host of anti-drug pamphlets which he promptly threw away. 

No need for them. He thought.

Taking the remaining papers, he heads back to the bedroom where he settled down in a ratty armchair beside a worn out and asleep Roy. 

The first sentence already starts to hurt to the bone and his hands shake again. His eyes keep darting towards Roy and back at the paper.

He OD'd twice during his stay. One time, they had to almost restart his heart because he was unresponsive.

Like that day in the bathroom 

Jason mentally supplied, the free hand clutching at the arm of his chair. He doesn't want to read the rest of the letter anymore and carefully folds it, slipping it into his pocket. 

He gently holds Roy's hand, lets his fingers trace along the veins standing out against the thin, almost transparent skin. Anger floods through him, how everything had hurt Roy so much. Jason rubbed gentle circles with his thumb as he waited for Roy to stir up. 

-

Roy awoke to a cotton-like feeling in his head and a remnant of sickness in his stomach. He laid there, staring at the repainted ceiling to force himself to not throw up as he blindly reached for a glass of water left by his table. With the blanket pooling at his waist, he sat up and leant against the headboard and tried to get his head on straight because he hasn't exactly processed anything in the last few hours.

He hears the clinking of a metal ladle and then the creaky cabinet with the dishes. A soft breeze filtered through the slightly ajar day and started a fresh bout of chills for Roy. He feebly rubs his arms against his sides and tries to stay warm.  He threw a pillow on his head because his stupid, stupid weak body couldn't regulate body temperature right. 

He stumbles out of the bed with the blanket draped around his shoulders. He opens the closet and takes out one of Jason's hoodies. He slips it and is instantly comforted by the warmth of the other. It smelt faintly of stale cigarette smoke (He knew Jason had dropped the habit when he was gone, determined to change himself) and gasoline. 

Roy pressed his ear near the doorframe and heard other ambiguous noises as he quietly closed the remaining gap of the door. A sudden wave of nausea hits him and he dashes into the joint washroom in his room.

He barely got onto his abused knees before spitting out the little he had in him. Bile dripped down his pale face and he leant against the cool surface of the bathtub. His eyes trail across the almost spotless tiles except for the occasional blood smears. Those must've been Jason's bad days.

Roy briefly wonders what bad days were to him. Every day kept throwing him off balance and he was always unprepared. 

He tried swimming to shore before, but his ankles always caught the anchor and he couldn't get out in time always. 

When he does free himself, he's so far into the past, it's just their ghosts teasing him and he's bloody trying but he's so tired. He's given up fighting against the waters.

He just opens his arms and welcomes the gush of cold and then the freak warmth of it all. He's so used to breathing without air and inhales water into his lungs. He knows what being waterlogged is like; he's been waterboarded a few times before. Oxygen was so sweet, such a promising relief.

The darkness however still held its charm.

Roy's shaky hand pats against himself, making sure he's still whole and not in pieces. Sometimes he doubted he was still human, the cracks too sharp for his fingers trying to join himself together. His fingers snag between, cuts open and warm blood always follows with the sting.

The sting was so much like when Queen ditched him. God, he never felt so fucking lonely before when his mentor left him to the wolves hungry for his skin. He was weaponless, powerless and defenseless. It was so easy to follow the shadows to the dark alleyway when you're alone, cold and desperate.

Even if it meant you'd sell your soul for relief.

Roy slowly flexed his arms, finding the feeling return to his emancipated limbs. Shaking, he's on his knees in a prayer position before getting up. His busty knees give way and he's so angry he can't even get up.

He felt like a failure. Was he going to be one for the rest of his life? Was he going to forever be trapped and feel he's lost control and never regained it back in any form?

He manages to return to the bedroom without cracking his skull open at the bathroom area. It would be a real shame if Jason brought him home just for Roy to die because he couldn't walk right. He chuckled darkly before making his way to the bag he left the facility with.

He slowly unzipped the bag and felt his way through. The sudden touch of stale fabric signaled to him that Jason hadn't touched the bag yet only because the fabric softener scent Jason used hadn't assailed his nose yet. He always liked the flower ones. 

His fingers reached a faux compartment and he lifted the fabric covering the pocket compartment. He fumbled at the zip before untying the zip tie. His hand plunged in deep and a crinkle sound pricked his ears.

He fished it out and unwrapped the gift box. Taking apart the next few layers, his eyes hungry for the prize.

It was at this moment Jason opened the door, a tray of the food in his hands. His eyes took one look at Roy and the offending item in his hands.

He dropped everything, the soup splashing on the ground and spreading so fast he doesn't know where it ends. Glass fragments lay out on the ground, offending weaponry to the victim. Roy is frozen and his eyes are locked onto Jason's wildly open eyes.

In one swipe, the broader man grabs the prize and throws it so far across the room Roy doesn't know where it is anymore. 

He felt his shirt being pulled and then the familiar feeling of being slammed into the wall. Light headed, his eyes pinched close in pain as he felt the shift in his skull.

Roy doesn't register someone leaning so heavily into him. It suffocated him before he attempted to throw a punch towards the offender.

That punch was quickly blocked and he was maneuvered right into the bed. Roy didn't have time to process anything before he was reaching out for the prize, body almost primal. Jason blocked him-

"Dammit- Stop fighting me."

Jason grits out, wrestling Roy away from where he spotted the prize.  His heart is trembling as he pushes Roy with such force back onto the bed.

"ROY."

Jason yells out, anger flooding his veins with something hot and haunted searing through him.

His eyes threaten to cloud but he forcefully shakes the tears. Roy is spent, panting on the bed as he sweats again. Jason kicks the prize away and rips Roy's bag away from the side table. He slaps him with such ferociousness, Roy is left reeling.

The room is silent. Not even breathing could be heard.

Jason dumps the contents onto the floor. Pens fell out, some artwork he was tasked to do at the facility. A picture of Lian.

Lian.

Jason was livid at the world and it hurts him to the bone as his eyes look at the glossed picture staring back at him from the floor. Her sweet smile formed cracks in his heart as she rode on the rodeo, his leather jacket draping her small figure. Roy's old cowboy hat sat askew on her mop of jet black as she grinned at the camera.

The pain of burying such a smile six feet under sobers him as he watches Roy regain his breath and sit up, a wince gracing his features before he freezes at Lian's picture.

Jason doesn't want to know what kind of scars Roy has sewn shut beneath his clear face. Sometimes Jason thinks he's run out of skin and soul to scar when Roy's at battle. Other days, he couldn't get out of bed and that's where Jason sees Roy for who he is.

A friend.

A friend he cannot afford to lose ever again.

"I miss her."

Roy starts, curling himself in and Jason doesn't look at his expression, all pain and hurting as he closes himself up into a ball, face buried in between as loose strands cross his features. Jason wants to reach out to squeeze a hand on his shoulder but it was still tingling where he slapped Roy. 

Jason thinks about napalm skies and burning cities all crumbling when he presses the stinging palm against his cheek, still radiating residual heat and some of the headache. He merely wondered if this was the price they paid for all those nights.

Nights that don't end. Nights that see them running for their lives. 

Was this what Jason wanted? To be headhunted, to have a bounty on his head so high the numbers keep flowing. To keep repairing himself and sew up like a doll. To never be able to live completely conscience free when he wakes up one cold night and realise another kid had died and he could've prevented it.

With the photo in Roy's hands, he absentmindedly stroked his fingers against Lian's lit face, trying to remember what her skin felt like. Warm and soft on a summer morning and always decked in daisies or sunflowers depending on which fields she ran to. His lap feels so empty but his heart is gone. 

"At one point, I had the power to bring Lian back."

Roy starts, voice rather strained with tears as he rests the photo on the bedside table. Jason's ears prick in confusion as he looks from where he's been brooding. 

"I didn't, even told Cheshire no. I think.."

He bravely draws in a breath to calm the incoming gush of throat-tightened and raw emotions he's not ready for.

"I think I'm doing her a kindness. If I brought her back, it isn't fair for her because she's gonna spend the rest of her life wondering what happened to her and why she doesn't remember. She's always going to be angry at a world that refused to stop when she died. I don't want her to end up like us.

I wanted her happiness because she's my angel. Angels do not deserve pain."

Roy quietly ends it, eyes all darting as he buries himself to cry again. Jason is thumbing his fingers because he hates where he is right now and he doesn't want to go too deep.

He still wants to be able to float.

"I think you did the right thing. You let her be free."

Jason softly says, his own eyes shining with tears as he reaches Roy for a hug. Roy inches in and there's nothing in between them as Jason's slightly larger frame encircled Roy a little, protecting him.

At that moment, nothing could hurt them. Not anymore as they both stayed there till sunset dusted their room in the soft afterglow of yesterday.

"I'm sorry, Jay. Don't cry-"

Jason looks up from where tears have drenched Roy's shirt as he blinks a little. Jason false starts before swallowing back shared glass

"I'm not. You're gonna ruin my bad boy reputation."

Jason jokes lightly as he playfully shoves Roy where a small smile appears on his face. There was still so much to do, so much to see-

"You can't do this alone."

Roy cocks his head, his fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. Every color died outside the window as night came, a sense of serendipity crosses him and he turns back to Jason.

"I know, but you're here."

"Don't do this for me. Do it for yourself, okay? I..I don't want to see you suffer anymore."

No one deserves to suffer alone.

Jason smiles and bites at his reddened lips. Roy's eyes dart over Jason before he turns back to the bed and falls back, a sigh escaping him. He nods to an exhausted looking Jason to lie down beside him too. Instinctively, he reaches for Jason (he was such a big heater) and curls himself against Jason.

"We're gonna be okay."

Jason says, carding Roy's hair to the side who closes his eyes and leans into Jason's gentle touch. When his stressed breathing evened out into calmer ones and later sleep, Jason swore that nothing would ever hurt him again.

He'll make sure of that.

[wangxiangiftexchange]

Winter Solstice Gift for krysaniar

Happy holidays, @krysaniar! I wrote this for your "good uncle Qiren finally approves" prompt. I hope you enjoy!

This is set in CQL-verse, but some details from the novel or the other adaptations may have found their way in.

Read on AO3

*****

Approval Rating

They invited Lan Qiren to dinner at the Jingshi one month after Wei Wuxian returned to the Cloud Recesses.

He told himself that it would be just fine. He'd seen Lan Qiren already, after all - Wei Wuxian had gone to pay his respects on the day he arrived in a stilted but blissfully brief meeting in Lan Qiren's office, and they'd seen each other in passing a couple of times since then. Well… in passing, and at a distance. He got the feeling that both he and Lan Qiren were doing their absolute best to keep out of each other's way.

But a quiet dinner at home shouldn't be so bad. Lan Wangji would be at his side, and Lans didn't talk during meals anyway, so in all probability Lan Qiren would come and go without saying a word to Wei Wuxian.

"It's just dinner, right?" he said as he and Lan Wangji set the table. "It's not like your uncle is going to, I don't know, come over here and kick me out of the Cloud Recesses. He would've done that already, right? Right? Lan Zhan?!"

"He will not," Lan Wangji said, placidly arranging the covered dishes that had arrived from the kitchens, each with its own warming talisman stuck to the side. "And even if he made the attempt, I would not allow him to succeed."

He said it so easily that Wei Wuxian's breath caught. Lan Wangji had already given up so much for him, had stood against the wishes of his family and his sect for Wei Wuxian too many times in this lifetime and in his last one. He didn't care what the Lan elders thought of him, but he loved Lan Wangji too much to want to be the cause of continuous strife between him and his family. He knew what it was like when tension lingered and twisted until it festered in a family; he'd grown up in the Jiang household, after all. He didn't want to see it happen to the Lans.

It was why he'd suggested inviting Lan Qiren to dinner in the first place - a peace offering in the form of a nice meal featuring the blandest food that the Cloud Recesses kitchens had to offer, and with Wei Wuxian making a solemn promise to himself to be on his very best behavior. No amount of dinners would ever make Lan Qiren approve of him, but Wei Wuxian hoped that after a few somewhat acceptable experiences in each other's company the old man would tolerate his presence, if only for Lan Wangji's sake.

Now he put down a bowl and nudged it into place, unable to meet Lan Wangji's eyes. "I don't want to cause any more trouble here, Lan Zhan. Especially not between you and your family."

"It is no trouble to tell Uncle that Wei Ying is my soulmate," Lan Wangji said, undaunted. "That I love him and wish never to be parted from him again."

"Lan Zhan!" It was nothing that Wei Wuxian hadn't heard before - multiple times a day, even, since his return - but it made him flustered every single time. Already he could feel his face growing warm. "You can't just say things like that."

"I must," Lan Wangji replied, his voice grave. He was smiling though, a small soft thing that was entirely too much for Wei Wuxian's poor heart to handle. "Lying is forbidden."

So of course Wei Wuxian had to dump the rest of the bowls he was carrying - thankfully, all empty - onto the table with a clatter so that he could throw his arms around Lan Wangji and kiss him. That was the rule: when Lan Wangji was sweet, he had to be kissed. It wasn't as if Wei Wuxian made the rules.

(He absolutely made the rules).

So if they were pink-cheeked and had barely finished setting the table when Lan Qiren arrived for dinner, it wasn't his fault. Well, it was entirely his fault, but Lan Qiren already expected him to be a terrible influence at all times, so Wei Wuxian figured he was just living up to expectations. Judging by the way Lan Qiren frowned at him as he walked through the door, he had a feeling that he was right.

Throughout the meal he could tell that Lan Qiren was taking in all of the signs of Wei Wuxian's presence in the Jingshi. He watched as Lan Qiren's gaze lingered by the door, where Wei Wuxian's well-worn boots leaned against Lan Wangji's pristine white ones, before straying to the nearby sword stand where Suibian now sat alongside Bichen. He caught Lan Qiren looking at the table where Lan Wangji liked to play the guqin, a place that Chenqing now called home. He frowned at Lan Wangji's desk, which they had taken to sharing and which was now looking a little cluttered with the addition of Wei Wuxian's inkstone and haphazardly-arranged brushes, and frowned harder when he noticed the new work table in the corner that Lan Wangji had brought in for him, its surface covered in a jumble of open books and stacks of talisman paper. At least the jars of Emperor's Smile were securely hidden under the floorboards, but Wei Wuxian wouldn't be surprised if Lan Qiren could sniff them out, somehow.

Lan Qiren's brows drew closer together as he gazed around the room, and his expression grew stonier as the meal moved from one dish to the next. This was a mistake, Wei Wuxian thought dully, his stomach so bunched up with tension that he couldn't do more than pick at his food. Even the rice and vegetables covered in chili oil that Lan Wangji had asked the cooks to make especially for him weren't the least bit tempting.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Lan Wangji darting frequent, concerned looks at him, and when Wei Wuxian finally turned towards him to try and smile in reassurance he was so jittery that he knocked over his tea. He righted the cup with an ungraceful amount of clattering and minimal mess, but the weight of the glare that Lan Qiren sent him from across the table did nothing to settle his nerves. Lan Wangji took his hand then, which did help to calm him, even when Lan Qiren's eyes immediately snapped to their joined hands.

"So, Wei Wuxian," he said once the meal was over and they had all put down their chopsticks. "You have returned from your travels."

"Uh. Yes?" He thought that had been obvious enough when he'd visited Lan Qiren weeks ago, not to mention the times he'd run into him since, but maybe he'd thought Wei Wuxian's presence in the Cloud Recesses was some kind of waking, recurring nightmare.

Well, Wei Wuxian reasoned, it wouldn't be the first time I've been thought of as a nightmare. It was not a pleasant reminder.

"And you are here to stay." It wasn't a question, and Lan Qiren looked like he already knew the answer, if the tightening of the skin around his eyes was anything to go by. He looked like he was suffering from a sudden and painful migraine.

"Yes," Wei Wuxian said, this time without any hesitation. Lan Wangji squeezed his fingers once, and Wei Wuxian squeezed back. He wouldn't leave Lan Wangji again.

Lan Qiren's eyes flicked once more between the work table in the corner, the cluttered desk, the swords and boots by the door. He stared at each object in turn, as if he were seeing them for the first time. Beside him Lan Wangji sat rigidly watching his uncle; Wei Wuxian could feel the coiled tension all along his arm, and rubbed his thumb against the back of Lan Wangji's hand, wishing he could take it away. After a moment some of the tension leached out, but to Wei Wuxian's well-trained eye Lan Wangji continued to look as anxious as he himself felt.

Finally Lan Qiren turned back to them - specifically, to Wei Wuxian. He looked like he'd swallowed something especially bitter. "Did you know that this was once Wangji's mother's home?" he said at last.

Wei Wuxian nodded. "Zewu-Jun told me some time ago."

He thought Lan Qiren might elaborate on that but he fell silent again, his gaze heavy and searching where it fell first on Wei Wuxian and then on Lan Wangji. At last he sighed heavily, as if he'd come to a decision.

"It was never a happy home," he said gruffly. "It is good to see signs of happiness within these walls at last."

For a long moment, Wei Wuxian was too stunned to react, but then Lan Qiren was rising and Wei Wuxian had to be half-dragged to his feet by Lan Wangji. He thought he must have misheard, but Lan Wangji was clutching his hand so tightly that he knew he'd understood Lan Qiren correctly, and that Lan Wangji was just as surprised as he was, though of course he didn't let it alter his expression. Unlike Wei Wuxian, who was left gaping like a fish until he belatedly remembered to close his mouth.

"Wangji, I expect you to bring Young Master Wei the next time I invite you to dinner," Lan Qiren said, as if casually inviting his most despised former student and the most hated and distrusted man in the cultivation world to dinner wasn't the most shocking thing he'd ever done.

"Yes, Uncle," Lan Wangji replied, inclining his head.

Lan Qiren nodded sharply, as if satisfied, before turning to Wei Wuxian. "And I expect to see you there, Young Master Wei." He sounded slightly pained, but also like he meant it. Besides, Lan Qiren was not in the habit of saying things that he did not mean.

"Thank you, Master Lan," Wei Wuxian managed to say as he and Lan Wangji bowed together. It might have been his imagination, but when he straightened up it seemed that Lan Qiren's expression had softened incrementally before he nodded once more and took his leave of them.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian said a few moments later, as they stood together in the doorway of the Jingshi watching as Lan Qiren made his way down the pebbled path. "Did that really just happen?"

"Mn."

"So I wasn't hallucinating when your uncle invited me to your family dinners? Because it almost sounded like he… approved of me staying here, didn't it?" He turned to Lan Wangji, eagerly searching his face. "Lan Zhan, are you sure this isn't a fever dream?"

Lan Wangji's eyes were glittering with barely concealed amusement. "Wei Ying. You are awake."

"But how can this be?" Wei Wuxian exclaimed. "He never wanted me here before. He's always wanted nothing more than to be rid of me. Why would he welcome me now, after - well, after everything?"

"I do not presume to know my uncle's mind," Lan Wangji said. "But I think, after everything that has happened, he knows more about you, and more about me as well. He may not understand everything between us, but I think he does accept it, or wishes to, now."

And that… was something Wei Wuxian would need more time to wrap his brain around. He suddenly felt exhausted, as if they'd just finished a particularly grueling nighthunt instead of a meal. He sighed and hooked his arm around Lan Wangji's waist, tugging him close.

"I never expected that to happen," he admitted eventually. "Lan Zhan, I had a lot of time to think during all those months I traveled. Too much time, maybe. And I never thought your uncle would accept it if I came back here. Sometimes it made me think… that maybe I shouldn't come back at all." He felt Lan Wangji tense against him but Wei Wuxian just hugged him tighter and plunged on. "But I wanted to come back, Lan Zhan, I really did. So then I hoped Lan Qiren would tolerate me eventually, or just ignore me. I don't need anyone else to want me around, I only need you. And I figured if I could just carve out a place by your side so that I could stay and never have to leave you again, that would be enough."

"Wei Ying, that place has always been there," Lan Wangji said, and brushed a kiss into his hair.

The late summer evening was warm, but there was a cool breeze sweeping down from the mountaintop. It ruffled Wei Wuxian's hair as he watched the sun sinking lower in the sky. After a moment he rested his head on Lan Wangji's shoulder and said, "Lan Zhan, I'm glad I'm home."

"So am I," Lan Wangji said as they continued to linger on the steps of their house, together.

[amoveablejake]

My Five Key Songs of April 2021

Another dive into my currently playing 

Here we are, the last Sunday of another month and time for my five key songs of the past month to make an appearance and vie for that all important track of the month place and with it earning its place in the playlist of the year. Without further ado lets hop to it:

First out of the gate: 

‘El Cortez’ by US Golf 95

After a brief hiatus from being constantly listening to Vapourwave this month I returned to the genre in full force. I’ve been listening to Vapourwave records over and over again and it will therefore come as no surprise to see at least one track appear here. I have spoken about the album ‘Casino’ before from which this track is lifted from and you know what, I’ll give it some air time again. This is a song that transports me into a hotel lobby or even a casino as the title suggests. Its the song that is playing whilst you wait in the lobby to venture out, its the song that greets you when you come back from the heist and the one that is gently wafting through the air as you nurse a drink in the wee small hours of the morning. This track for me is pure escapism and once again helps to fulfill my heist pulling fantasies. 

‘Get Down Saturday Night’ by Oliver Cheatham 

If there is one thing that I adore, it is a fake radio show format worked into an album. This can be found on the ‘Reservoir Dogs’ soundtrack, infact ‘Once Upon a Time in Hollywood’s’ album has it aswell, but also the Grand Theft Auto compilation albums for Vice City have it aswell and oh boy are they a treat in particular the Fever 105 album. This Funk Soul radio station feels like it could be the b side to ‘Jackie Brown’ and or that it could be whats playing in the background of many Elmore Leonard novels. Its hard to pick only one song from the record after I’ve been listening to it all month but I’ll go with ‘Get Down Saturday Night’. It has a rather chilling appearance in ‘Ex Machina’ but other than the horror of that, its a song that should be played throughout the week to gear you up for the weekend and could be in the getaway car after you’ve robbed the Vegas casino. What is this theme of heists that is going on, its almost as if I’ve got a bank robbery story on my mind. Is that an easter egg? Whose to say 

‘Bonita Applebum’ by A Tribe Called Quest 

As with the Vapourwave genre this month after a period of absence I have returned to one of my favourite bands ‘A Tribe Called Quest.’ Last month for our album of the week I spoke about how important they are to me however, I didn’t really do as deep dive into their music so shall we change that. ‘Bonita Applebum’ is from Tribe’s debut album and boy does it feel like it in the most perfect way. This is a song that shows the band’s bravado and charm all in one. It feels like a record that they had to fight to keep in rather than being the first choice from any record label. In many ways, it could be the definitely track of the record for showing the band’s personality and it could well be the best track on the record. The problem is you then look at every other song and think damn, they’re all perfect, how can they compete with each other. Rivalry with its other songs aside, ‘Bonita Applebum’ is a song that seems to absorb the sunshine and should always be playing when its warm outside. This might be the song for the summer and I wouldn’t be surprised if it makes another appearance on the tracks of the month feature. 

‘Great Pumpkin Waltz’ by the Vince Guaraldi Trio 

It has been a little while since I have written about Vince Guaraldi so let me change that. ‘Great Pumpkin Waltz’ from ‘It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown’ is another example of why the Peanuts specials have the best scores around. The entire album for the Halloween special for Charlie Brown and his friends is flawless but this track is my particular highlight. It may not reach the same dizzying heights of perfection as we see from ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’ but then again what song possibly could. This time, rather than being completely wrapped up in the glow of the fire and the lights on the Christmas tree in our hygge fantasies, we are walking home, hearing the crunch of autumn leaves underfoot and dreaming of hues of oranges and browns. This is the song that will make you want to reach for your autumn wardrobe essentials and have your playwright beagle accompany you everywhere. 

And here we are, the track of the month, ‘Make Me Love You’ by Dan Mason 

Really, it was always going to be a Dan Mason song that featured as the track of the month. I have listened to no artist more than him this last month as he has accompanied me on my lunchbreaks in the office and as I read before bed. ‘Miami Virtual’, the album from which ‘Make Me Love You’ is lifted from, is quickly becoming one of my staple and favourite albums. It is a record that despite me only finding it a few months ago taps into so many of my memories. It has no reason to feel this way but a great sense of nostalgia surrounds it for me and I can’t quite shake it. As I work my way through the tracks I feel a great sense of warmth and happiness that makes me jump right back to the beginning the moment the record stops playing. Choosing one song from the album to feature here was difficult however, I’ve gone with ‘Make Me Love You’ because there is something about it that really hits home. It feels like an end of the day song, or one that you listen to as you’re flying home looking at your country from above. Its a true joy to listen to and has more than earned its place in the twelve song playlist of the songs of the year. 

So there we have it, the five key songs for April 2021. Looking back at them it does seem that there is a theme of unwinding and relaxation in many cases after a heist has taken place. As I have touched on before, is this hinting at a project I’m working on? No, it couldn’t be, right? Because after all, I definitely don’t leave easter eggs and hints throughout these blog posts do I? 

Can you feel the wink directly at the camera? 

-Jake, a man dreaming of walking through Palma listening to ‘Miami Virtual’, 25/04/2021 

[catcorsair]

Oooh commentary!! How about this little snippet that broke my heart: She fumed in silence atop the bed. "Please," he added, eyes wild behind the black mask, "don't leave, Christine––I will not do it again, I swear it––" "Get out of here!" Christine growled from the bed. "I don't understand! " he said desperately, his eyes searching her face, for something, anything––"but please, please––Christine––don't go—”

Of course it's Paradise, @ashadeintheshade XD

So I wrote almost all of this fic on my phone during a long car trip, in one day (which is not at all how I normally write) and so I have a love/hate relationship with it: I hate it because it is completely absurd, borderline crack--Erik's dialog alone should serve as enough evidence to this, not even counting the foot thing!--that I spat out in a sort of espresso induced fever dream that went something along the lines of…. so what if Christine....like….just came all over the place.... every time Erik OPENED HIS SEXY MOUTH???.... and (foaming at the mouth) WHAT IF HE KNEW! BUT SHE DIDN'T KNOW HE KNEW!!! That's The Actual Premise. But people seem to love it, so I love it too, even if I love it like that one step kid you make live in the cellar. It is... not my best work. But what it lacks in substance it apparently makes up to in being hot, so (crude wink) you're welcome. Paradise is, incidentally, the only fic of mine to earn a DM from a very enthusiastic individual who shall remain nameless, that it was, and I quote, "the only thing they masturbated to", so (finger guns) … moving on

So this bit is at the end (pardon my excessive abuse of the em-dash here... they're uh.. breathless? Did I mention that I wrote this on my phone, in the car?) is after she's already (mostly) had sex with him, then regretted it, then freaked out a bit, had a mild but very confusing change of heart, and went back to regretting. I feel bad for her here, and I'm sure a lot of folks can identify with what she's going through; everything was hot and awesome when it was all just a beautiful fantasy, but faced with the realities of sexual intimacy and the fact that Erik is a real, living man and not a dark and sexy character from a romance novel (or Heaven… girl has some issues.) Christine doesn't know how to rationalize her expectations with the reality of what she's done. Failing to process this, she wants him the fuck OUT

Meanwhile Erik is just really, really confused, not to mention becoming increasingly convinced that he's a rapist. He isn't processing in an ideal manner either, quickly spiraling into his customary self-loathing. He doesn't understand what he has done wrong, but, because Christine allows him to, he takes the blame for it, punishing himself for his confidence only moments before. I don't honestly think this Erik would have ever had the guts to make a move on Christine if she hadn't come to him as she did; he would have silently suffered through listening to her through her bedroom door for the rest of his miserable horny life, until he died from acute testicular rupture. So naturally, when she did come to him, he had a lot of pent-up stuff going on, and he might have gotten a bit too into it. (Like maybe you shouldn't have gone for doggy on a virgin, buddy? Maybe you should have kept that whore comment to yourself, instead of unleashing it on the one adult woman EVER to have a singing angel as an imaginary friend?) 

He had thought, going into the encounter, that he was doing what she wanted him to (and therefore the very thing that would keep her with him), and now he sees that he was wrong, and is desperately trying to convince her not to leave him. To him, having her with him is more important than ever having her, (even though he does desire it) and so while he has successfully gotten something he desperately wanted from her, he believes it will have cost him her companionship, and he is distraught. Neither of them are entirely at fault, though neither are innocent. Lots of mutual, unrequited pining in this one! This is why communication is really fucking important in any relationship!!

But remember, this is a fic in which I gleefully go on for several lines about how big Erik's cock is (too big, aka, just big enough!!) so like…. it ain't literature 

Maybe now I'll remember to actually work on part two (probably not). Thanks for asking, Shade! Feel free to ask me to blab about my works anytime folks

If none of this made any sense but you want it to: read "Last Night in Paradise" HERE

[alexsfictionaddiction]

10 of the best pandemic novels

It’s an understatement to say that the world as we know it has changed insurmountably over the last few weeks. We’re apart from our loved ones, most of our summer plans have been cancelled and we’re faced with more uncertainty than ever before. Pandemics and plagues have been present in horror, sci-fi and post-apocalyptic books for decades and they’ve always seemed to be exactly that. Abandoned cities, fast-acting deadly diseases and epic efforts for survival are things that happen in different worlds to our own but of course, they’ve never reflected reality more than they do right now.

I’ve been using this time to research and read a bunch of books that deal with pandemics and I wanted to share 10 of the very best of them with you. I completely understand if you’re trying to avoid these kinds of reads at the moment to limit anxiety or simply to escape. That’s why I also have a list of feel-good reads especially for you!

1. The Stand by Stephen King

The Stand is a book you’ll see on every pandemic fiction list because it is widely considered to be King’s masterpiece. The virus is really just the beginning of this enormous tome as its proceeded by ominous dreams, the inevitable end of days and the very real eternal battle between good and evil -perhaps not unlike some of your recent political discussions? Typical of a King novel, it’s populated by a huge cast of morally complex, tragic characters and there is an overwhelming sense of dread from the very first chapter. Expect a harrowing atmospheric read that will stay with you for a long time.

2. The Girl With All The Gifts by M. R. Carey

Essentially, it’s a zombie book but it’s also so much more than that. Set in a world where ‘hungries’ roam the wastelands, a select group of infected but high-functioning children are contained in a special facility. Amongst a ruthless scientist, a kindly teacher and a wary sergeant, child genius Melanie’s story will become one that haunts you in the middle of the night. It’s a classic page-turning thriller that isn’t an exact reflection of our current world but there are some eerie likenesses that will have you questioning who the real monsters are.

3. Station Eleven by Emily St John Mandel

Station Eleven is so full of believable situations and characters that I could easily see the end of the Earth looking exactly like this huge sprawling landscape, dotted with towns populated by small groups of suspicious, scared people. It chiefly follows five principal characters -seasoned Hollywood actor Arthur Leander who dies on stage during a production of King Lear, his incredibly talented but unappreciated first wife Miranda, his oldest friend Clark, Jeevan Chaudhary who tried to save him and Kirsten, one of Arthur’s child co-stars whose life has been shaped by the events of that fateful night. It’s a beautifully written, expertly constructed book that explores loss, resilience and the heartbreaking notion of desperately trying to hold on to the past. You’ll want several boxes of tissues for this one!

4. The Fireman by Joe Hill

Ok, so the virus in this one isn’t QUITE like COVID-19 but the intense fear, teetering sanity and unexpected small rays of hope aren’t unlike our current set of feels. Dragonscale marks its host with black and gold and burns them up from the inside causing them to eventually spontaneously combust and no one appears to be safe from this horrifying end. We follow pregnant nurse Harper who bears the ominous marks but is desperate to live long enough to give birth and the mystery of the Fireman -an afflicted man who has somehow learned to control the fire within him. It’s a very original premise and although it’s another beast of a book at over 700 pages, it will have you gripped from the very first page.

5. The Book of M by Peng Shepherd

There’s something about memory that feels so precious to me. It may be because in a normal functioning brain, it’s the only thing that constantly keeps us company and therefore, in some ways it’s like an old friend. The Book of M features a virus where shadows have begun to disappear, leaving their humans with a strange new power but also with a rapidly deteriorating memory. Following Ory and Max -two halves of a couple who have been torn apart by the prospect of heartbreak- we meet a bunch of wonderful characters on a journey to New Orleans, where sanctuary reportedly awaits. I stayed up late to finish it because I became so invested in getting these characters back together but I was left completely thrown and sobbing my eyes out by the very cruel twist at the end. Yeah... brace yourself!

6. The Last Town On Earth by Thomas Mullen

Set in 1918 in Washington state, this story follows a small quarantined town trying to stave off the Spanish influenza. The effects of financial instability on the community, the fear of the unknown and the erratic actions of a panicked mind will definitely seem familiar in our current world. It’s an enclosed domestic drama with a lot of social history, tear-jerking moments and a truly explosive ending. I’m delighted that I discovered this emotional hidden gem!

7. Skin by Liam Brown

Skin describes a world with an extreme version of a COVID-esque virus. Everyone must completely isolate from everyone else including the people they live with and can only communicate from separate bedrooms via technology. But then our protagonist Angela spots a man outside without any protective gear on and he doesn’t even seem to be slightly sick. Full of intrigue, complex characters and a twist in the tale, it’s a fast read with a lot to say about contemporary society via a wry cynical voice.

8. Severance by Ling Ma

Candace Chen is a routine-loving millennial who turns ghost city photo-blogger when the deadly Shen Fever sweeps New York. Joining an eclectic band of survivors on a trek to a supposed sanctuary, she is harboring a secret of epic proportions. Things get progressively darker as the group begins to develop a cult-like dynamic and the seemingly self-elected ‘leader’ Bob becomes increasingly tyrannical. The sudden jolt out of ordinary life and the making and breaking of human relationships in times of hardship mixed with a touch of satire makes for a thoroughly entertaining, topical read.

9. Wilder Girls by Rory Power

I love a good boarding school novel and this is possibly the darkest, most unique one I’ve ever read. The Tox has left multiple pupils at Raxter School For Girls with deformities and they’re now waiting patiently for a cure. But then Hetty’s best friend Byatt goes missing and suspicion heightens as to what’s really happening on the remote island. I couldn’t shake the feeling of doom for the entire time and there was such a heavy gloomy atmosphere that seeps through the pages. There was a lot of buzz around this book on YA Twitter when it was released late last year and it’s definitely worth all of the hype! 

10. Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood

This impeccably strange, enchanting novel is a little glimpse into some of the weirder rooms of Atwood’s mind. Snowman lives in a tree on a deserted beach and spends his days foraging for scraps and mourning his best friend Crake and the woman he loved, the enigmatic Oryx. He seems to be the only human left but somehow he has become a prophet-esque figure to the beautiful, ethereal Children of Crake. The actual virus doesn't appear until the final 50 pages but we see the effects of it from the very beginning, so I was pretty eager to find out exactly what had happened, which kept the pages turning. Although it is funny in places and exceptionally thought-provoking, there is a lot of disturbing content to be aware of including animal experimentation and child trafficking and sexual abuse. It’s a horrifying window into a possible future if extreme capitalism and the fast advances in genetic engineering were ever to meet in a head-on collision. 

[paradisobound]

World’s Greatest First Love: Chapter 8

Summary: Dan Howell wanted a clean break from his father’s publishing company. It was why he applied for a different company in London: to stop the ridicule of his coworkers for riding on his ‘daddy’s coat tails’. But he wasn’t expecting to suddenly be going from a literature editor, to a graphic novel editor. And he certainly wasn’t expecting to come face first with his first love who broke his heart from when he was a teenager: who just happens to be his new editor-in-chief.

Based on the Anime and Manga “The World’s Greatest First Love: The Case of Ritsu Onodera” aka Sekai-Ichi Hatsukoi

Rating: Mature (For Now)

Word Count: 2.3k (this chapter)

Warnings: None

Beta Read by: @phanandpenguins 

Updates Every Tuesday 12pm EST and Saturday at 1pm EST

READ ON AO3

IMPORTANT A/N: These next few chapters, if you haven't seen the anime, might seen a bit like a fever dream haha I mean this as the storyline gets a bit more complex and new characters and other elements began to be thrown in. I'm trying to keep this as close to the anime as possible and follow these same plot points, while also keeping it as close to Dan and Phil as possible too. Like my outline is each chapter is an episode of the anime so keep that in mind too. That being said, these next few chapters, if you have any questions at all, please them in the comments on Ao3 or come to my inbox and ask them to me!

Dan’s next manuscript is due at five and he is currently fighting with his author to try and get it. He feels like he shouldn’t have to pry this hard to get the manuscript, but his author isn’t budging. He keeps telling Dan that it’s coming and Dan will have it soon but Dan is having a hard time believing that.

He really needs the manuscript because he needs to send it to the printer for the initial printing decision. But without it, he can’t do that and now the workers at the printer are going to be all up in arms because Dan just wasted their time.

Dan could go to Phil and ask what to do. But Dan has made it a point to avoid Phil these last two weeks since their interaction at his apartment. It wasn’t that he thought he needed to avoid Phil, but it was more or less the idea that he didn’t want to be confronted with the fact that they do need to talk about everything.

But Dan isn’t ready for any of that yet. So instead of letting himself just get the talking done and over with, he’s been walking opposite directions from Phil, taking the bus instead of the train even though he hates the bus, and just not talking to him besides exchanging pleasantries in the morning or when Phil walks by.

As Dan turns his head to take a quick look towards Phil, he notices Phil isn’t even there. His desk chair is pushed back and his laptop is still open but he’s gone. Dan feels like that’s normal, because of course Phil is busy and is being called to everywhere in the building. But it still bothers him a bit when he looks up and sees Phil isn’t there.

But he doesn’t have to wait long to know where Phil is because suddenly his tall, lanky frame is coming down the hallway and he has a book in his hand a bunch of paperwork in a manilla folder. Dan assumes that it’s for Phil’s book that he just tried to get published but instead, Phil makes a beeline right to his desk.

“Congratulations, Dan!” Phil says, placing the book and the papers on Dan’s desk. “This is the final printing edition for your book and on top of that, Onyx is asking for us to do a second printing due to the demand already. Here is the paperwork talking about how you’ll need to go about the second printing.”

Dan feels all air leave his body because his first graphic novel that he edited is getting a second printing! That’s amazing.

“We should celebrate!”

Dan looks up to see the other editors all perking up at their desks at Mitch’s exclamation.

“Yes!” Phil says back, “Let’s all go out for some drinks tonight in celebration for Dan’s first book getting a second run.”

“Oh no, I don’t think…”

“It’ll be fun,” Mitch speaks up, reaching out and putting his hand on Dan’s arm. “I promise we’re a fun crowd.”

Dan feels like he doesn’t have much of a say in the matter but he decides to give in because honestly, it’s just going out with coworkers. That’s all it’s going to be. It’s not going to be him and Phil alone and that's totally fine.

Phil leaves from behind him and walks back to his desk and sits back down into the seat. Dan looks down at the cover of the book and feels it. The hardcover feels amazing under his touch and he can’t believe that he’s just published his first book at Onyx. It feels a bit like this is all a dream.

***

Mitch had made reservations for a restaurant in central London for later that evening so since Dan had some time between when he left work and dinner, he decided to stop by W.H Smith and see if any of the copies of his book have made it to the shelves yet.

He was a bit eager to see how well it was selling so it would be really interesting for him to find a copy of it and see how many have been sold off from the shelves or the tables. He stops at the first one he sees between Onyx and the tube station and he walks inside the doors to see his book sitting in the front on a ‘New Releases’ table and he walks over to it.

Dan lifted the book up and flipped it over, looking at the back and seeing that the store was charging £15 for it and he knows that that’s mostly what the sales department decided but he feels like that’s a bit steep. But then again, he sees the contrasting colors and how high quality the book looks and he actually feels like the price is justifiable.

He fingers through the pages of the book and is looking through the published pages. He doesn't even remember what the books from his father’s company looked like while published but a thought in his head made him smile when he thought about how he these had to be a higher quality. He is still thumbing through the pages when he hears someone clear their throat behind him. He turns his head and sees Damien standing there.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, folding his arms over his chest, his blazer pulling tight across his shoulders. He looks so much more professional than Dan who is in just a sweater and a pair of black jeans.

“I was checking out my book.”

Damien shook his head and furrowed his brows, “Don’t do that.”

Dan furrowed his brows, “Why can’t I? It edited this.” He held the book up in his hand as if trying to make a point.

“Because that’s not your department. You’re editing, not sales. It’s not your job to see the book in stores. That’s mine. I’m the one who goes to the stores and gathers sales reports every month,” Damien says, snapping back.

“Why are you acting like this is such a big deal?” Dan asks, his voice getting huffy as he sets the book back down on the table. “I was just checking out the book.”

Damien lets his arms back down to his side and Dan watches as his chest puffs out and then retracts back, “Just...don’t do this again. It’s not your place.”

Dan softens his demeanor back, not wanting to continue the argument if Damien was backing down as well. It was clear that they were both coming to a compromise and that was good enough for Dan.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dan says finally, not quite accepting Damien’s response but wanting to keep everything at a stasis.

Damien nods back and that’s when Dan sees he’s holding a bag in his hands that he hadn’t honestly noticed before in the momentary confrontation. It’s for a pet store and his stomach sinks a bit more as he remembers the animal it must be for.

“Is that for your cat?” Dan asks, not even realizing he’s talking until Damien’s eyes widen and he stiffens again.

“How do you know I have a cat?” He asks.

“I...I saw you chase after the cat one day when I was going to my apartment. You were coming out of Phil’s.”

“You live near Phil?” Damien asks, his voice changing a bit.

Dan nods and then quickly backtracks, “Well, yes, I do but I didn’t know he lived there before I moved in. I promise.”

Damien hikes his shoulders up for a second and crosses his arms again as he says, “It was Phil’s cat...but I’ve taken it over. It’s none of your business.”

Damien then turns on his heels and leaves Dan behind. Dan watches him leave out of the doors and he feels a bit like he has whiplash. He has many more questions roaming around in his head but he’s not sure if he wants any of them ever to be answered.

He leaves the store not long after.

***

Phil: Mitch and the others can’t come anymore so it’ll just be you and I

Dan stares at the text for a solid five minutes before he even begins to think of a reply. This is the worst possible scenario to have happened and he cannot believe that his luck is doing this to him. He genuinely wants to scream but he can’t.

He’s still contemplating a reply when Phil texts him back another message.

Phil: I’ll pick up some drinks and we can just celebrate at my apartment. I’ll be home in 20

Oh, that’s even worse, Dan thinks.

This entire night is just getting worse and worse and Dan falls back on his couch and groans out loud, rubbing his eyes with his hands. How on Earth could such a great thing of getting a second printing of your book suddenly turn into drinking with your boss because the others couldn’t attend.

Dan still hasn’t answered the message when his doorbell rings and jolts him from his thoughts. He stands up and walks over to the door, opening it up to see Phil standing there with a bottle of wine and a few other bottles in bags in his hands.

“Didn’t know what you drank so I picked up some different things,” He says. “Let’s go to my apartment and celebrate.”

“I’m not sure if I…”

“Come on, Dan,” Phil pushed. “It’s just celebrating for an actually super rare occasion. Hardly anyone gets a second printing on their first book. I definitely didn't so we need to celebrate!”

Dan doesn’t know what told him to agree inside of him, but suddenly he was walking to Phil’s apartment and sittin in Phil’s living room as they opened up a bottle of wine and Phil poured them both a glass.

Dan drank his down in no time, mostly because he didn’t really want to be sober right now. But Phil took slow sips of his and took a while longer to finish. They don’t speak much, which Dan doesn’t actually hate.

But the silence begins to eat at him more and more, and he finishes half of the bottle by himself. His world begins to get a bit cloudier, and his vision a bit softer as he sits back on his palms and tries to remain grounded.

“You’re a lightweight,” Phil says with a chuckle.

“Am not.”

Phil laughs. “You were already pissed after the first glass.”

Dan shakes his head and looks down at the floor in front of them. He’s not sure of what else to say.

“Damien told me he saw you at W.H Smith this afternoon,” Phil says and Dan looks up suddenly.

Of course Damien told Phil.

“I don’t mind if you go there every once and a while to check out your books,” Phil says. “But that is the sales department and if Damien sees you there often, he’s gonna start getting upset.”

Dan rolls his eyes, not even meaning to fully do that but it happens as a natural reaction.

“I know you don’t like Damien but he is your superior.”

“Can you stop mentioning him so damn much?” Dan snaps out. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Is this because of what happened the other day with him?” Phil asks, setting his glass down.

“I don’t like Damien,” Dan admits. “He’s mean.”

Phil shakes his head, “He’s really not when you get to know him.”

“Well if that’s the case, can you tell him to get off my fucking back?” Dan exclaims.

“What is Damien doing?” Phil asks, his tone serious.

Dan bites back his tongue from yelling out that he wishes Phil would stop playing with his emotions and just go to Damien but the small rational side of his brain is telling him that’s not fair for either of them.

“Damien told me that he is taking care of your cat.”

Phil looks at him and his mouth opens and shuts for a moment before he speaks up, “Oh? My cat? It’s not really my cat. I got it a few months ago but my demanding work schedule didn’t allow me to take care of the cat properly so Damien took it over since he works a set schedule.”

“Why was he coming out of your apartment with it a few weeks ago then?”

Phil shakes his head, almost as if he doesn’t know how to answer the question but then he says whatever he was thinking of, “Damien goes out of town for work on occasion and probably needed me to watch her. So he was probably bringing her over that day.”

Dan sat in silence because of course that’s the solid answer but Dan wishes for whatever reason that it was different. He sits back, trying to not stew on anything that was just said.

“Is this all why you don’t like Damien?” Phil asks, his voice questioning but sincere.

“Why don’t you just date Damien?” Dan asks, turning his head away. “Why are you still chasing after me when you’ve had him by your side all this time?”

Phil suddenly moves next to him and Dan does all that he can to remain fixed in his spot and not flinch and scutter away like a startled animal.

“We tried, back when we were in uni,” Phil says, “But it didn’t work because I’ve told you a million times. I never stopped thinking about you.”

Dan feels his eyes well up a bit with tears that he can’t control as feelings bubble in his chest. Because as much as Dan hates admitting it, he knows he never stopped thinking about Phil too.

Every night he dreamt about Phil until he suddenly stopped one day. Every day he thought about Phil, some days he even cried. He never wanted to admit it because deep down, he always figured he would never see Phil again.

But with the alcohol in his veins and Phil sitting beside him, so close to him, Dan feels his inhibitions lower a bit more than they should. He’s tired of fighting off these feelings that he knows are there. He’s tired of acting like he doesn’t feel the same because…

He does. He feels the same as Phil and fuck it hurts.

“You’re crying,” Phil says gently, reaching up and running his thumb over Dan’s cheek just as Dan feels the wetness seep down his skin.

“Sorry,” Dan apologizes with a watery laugh.

“Don’t apologize,” Phil says. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“We were really young, Phil,” Dan says, laughing a bit more now, “We didn’t even know what love was.”

“No, but it felt like we did.”

Dan nods because it did feel like that. Dan had felt genuine love in the short time he had been with Phil.

Dan doesn’t know who leaned in first, but all he knows is the feeling of Phil’s lips on his feels like a dream. Phil’s hand comes and cups his jaw and Dan allows the kiss to deepen. Dan can feel the heat coursing hotter in his veins and he can’t tell if it’s from this or from the alcohol.

All he knows is that it feels like ten years ago.

[captialrogers]

Whisky and Leather

Summary: Steve just wanted to have a drink, but then he saw [y/n] and knew he had to have her.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Warnings: Mature content, 18+, M/F, Oral sex (female receiving), Unprotected sex, slight mention of cream pie, one-night stand, drinking, Swearing. 

Wordcount: 2,933

Tags: @patzammit @captain-rogers-beard @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @captainrogerss @prettyyoungtragedy (I tagged some of my favs, I hope this is okay? You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to)

Marvel Masterlist / Character Master List

The smell of whisky and leather hung heavy in the air and the steady pounding of an instrumental melody sounded around him. When Steve had found out about the lesser-known pub he had jumped at the opportunity to make it his usual spot. He was even more inclined to do so when he discovered that the owners had chosen a 1940s theme for their decor and music. It was a comfort in a world that was not his, being in the small pub, especially when the missions were mentally draining. Sure, he had seen a great many things in his years of combined service, but nothing — nothing — could prepare him for some of the more sensitive cases.

A shutter travelled the length of the super soldier’s spine and he closed his eyes, listening to the gentle sway of jazz echoing through the establishment's speakers. However, the sound of loud laughter and stomping footfalls pulled the blond from his bout of nostalgia. From his usual seat near the rear entrance of the pub, Steve watched as a group of friends walked toward an empty booth. Some of the men had their arms wrapped around the shoulders of some of the woman while others were walking side by side. He almost got up to leave when he caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye.

You were sliding into the booth after a couple whose names you couldn’t quite remember. Without hearing what had been said so suddenly, you forced a laugh, trying not to stand out from the group of friends and strangers that you were with. When your casual work acquaintance suggested that you join them and a few of their friends for a few drinks, it took everything you had to not say that you were busy. This, however, was not what you were expecting. The only person you knew, and that was a small ‘knew’, was said, acquaintance. It was because of this that you were mostly sober while the others were rather drunk. You didn’t want to be that person who wound up completely trashed in a group of complete strangers.

When the server placed a round of shots in front of your group you bit your lip and reached for one hesitantly. While the majority of the group took their shots, you sat there debating on whether or not it was a good idea to do the same. Looking up slightly you caught the eye of a man sitting a few tables away from yours. He had a small smirk on his lips and his blue eyes were shining with curiosity. You watched as he lifted his glass of whisky in a sort of cheers motion and downed it. To your surprise, you had done the same thing, lifting the shot glass up to your lips and tossing it back with a quick jerk of your head. The liquid was bitter tasting and left a burning trail down your throat. Scrunching your face, you heard a soft chuckle that most certainly didn’t come from a member of your group, they were too invested in whatever conversation was taking place.

“Isn’t that right, [y/n]?” You heard someone slur.

“What? Oh, sure?” You said unsure of what you were agreeing to. Whatever it was, you had apparently answered correctly because the high feminine voice continued to chatter and elicit various degrees of laughter and howls. With a shaky smile, you reached for another shot as soon as the server placed the tray of them down. This time, without hesitation, you looked at the blond man a few tables away and lifted your glass up, tossing the bittersweet contents back in one gulp. Although you had joined the group in their cheers, it was the stranger across from you that held your attention. Drink after drink only seemed to heighten your fascination and flirtatious looks at each other.

With each glance in the man’s direction, you felt your heartbeat quicken to the point that you could hear it roaring in your ears. For the better part of an hour, he had been slowly nursing his new glass of whisky and observing your every move. If you hadn’t been so attracted to the blond, you would have found his near constant stare disturbing and a bit unnerving. But there was something in the blue of his eyes that told you he was the exact opposite of a creep. Unconsciously, you licked and nibbled at your bottom lip as you watched the man’s shoulders stiffen and his jaw clench. Something flashed across his face but was gone as quickly as it appeared, leaving you to struggle to figure out what it had been.

Steve looked to the side and raked a hand through his neatly kept hair. You were going to be the death of him in more ways than one. He wanted to know if you felt as soft as you looked. Steve couldn’t stop looking at you; watching the way your body moved —  slow but confident. He wanted to know how you’d move beneath him. How you’d move on top of him. Silently he cursed himself. He shouldn’t be thinking of such things, especially when they were about someone he had never seen before. But he couldn’t help it. Steve wanted to know. He needed to know.

There was a small commotion and a chorus of goodbyes and thanks for coming that caused the blond to look back at your group. Within a matter of seconds, he knew that you were no longer sitting with them and that it was you who was leaving. Quickly pulling his wallet from his pants pocket and tossing a few bills onto the table, Steve stood and followed you out of the pub. He had been a few steps behind you and when the cold night air hit his face, the super soldier was finally able to think properly. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be reaching for your arm and he most certainly shouldn’t be pressing you to close. “I’m sorry, I..”

“[y/n].”

“What?” His brows pinched together in confusion.

“My name.”

Steve smirked as you placed your hand to his chest and bit at your lip, “Steve.” He replied running his hand down your arm and across your hip.

Your eyes fluttered and your breath hitched. You had thought about what it would be like to have him touch you; how strong his grip would feel. All night, you had wanted something like this to happen, but never in your wildest dreams did you think it would happen. It only happens in romance novels. “D-did you want to…” Your voice was low and barely audible.

Although Steve didn’t respond, you knew he had heard you. Without hesitation, the large man was walking you toward the curb, the hand that wasn’t wrapped around your waist held out. Flagging a taxi, he opened the passenger side door for you and waited as you slid in. Once you had done so, the blond followed, slamming the door behind him and quickly giving the driver an address.

As the taxi began to move, you turned to look at the man beside you, tracing the shape of his nose with half-lidded eyes. You wanted to run your fingertips across his sharp jawline and down his neck. And so you did. His skin was hot and his pulse was steady beneath your fingers. It took everything you had not to moan out as he placed a large hand against your upper thigh and leaned towards you, overwhelming your senses with his cologne. Again, your eyes fluttered closed briefly before opening once more. At the sound of a sharp inhale, you ran your thumb against the length of his lower lip, the words he was starting to say dying on his next exhale. Steve’s hold on your thigh tightened as you pitched forward, pressing desperate kisses to his just as eager lips. With each quick brush of his lips against yours, the fever that had been lingering in your veins grew — steady and fierce.

Forgetting that the two of you were not entirely alone, you slid on top of the super soldier, straddling his upper thighs and draping an arm over his shoulder. Good Lord he was warm and firm and something you could lose yourself completely to. Steve placed his hands on your hips and pulled you tighter to his body, drawing a small gasp from your lips. Your lungs burned as your chest heaved against his in useless attempts to catch your breath. Smiling against the blond's lips you tugged the small wisps of hair at the nape of his neck, revelling in the sound of your pounding heart and haggard breathing.

At the sound of a throat clearing awkwardly Steve realized you were at the Compound. Finally. Once again, Steve dug through his pants pocket and thrust a handful of large bills into the front seat of the taxi cab. The grunt of disappointment resonated down the length of his spine as he opened the door and urged you out. He muttered a ’thanks’ to the driver and followed you, slamming the door closed. Despite the fact that the pair of you were out in the open, the super soldier couldn’t keep his hands off of you. His body burned and the only way it could be cooled was to be pressed against yours.

He pushed you into the closest wall and began to kiss down your neck, nipping and sucking as he went. His hands roamed every inch of your chest and abdomen; the tips of his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. You moaned and arched into him, pushing his head deeper into your neck loving the way his teeth grazed against your skin. You wanted him, more than you had wanted anyone before. It didn’t matter that you were complete strangers. It didn’t matter that this was just going to be a one night stand. All that mattered was that his lips were on yours.

In a flurry of movement, Steve was kissing you roughly and pressing his leg between your thighs. If he asked, you would have let him have you there, pressed up against the cold wall of the Avengers compound. But he didn’t. Instead, the blond asked, “This okay?”

You smiled against his lips. “More than. A bed would be better.”

As if broken from a trance, he took hold of your hand and pulled you away from the wall muttering something about saying so sooner. The walk through the compound was a blur. The only moments you remembered were those filled with chuckles, long kisses, and groping hands. Finally, the two of you stumbled into a room, kicking off shoes and tossing jackets aside as you went. Steve didn’t bother turning on the light. He didn’t bother locking the door.

You fisted the hem of his shirt to which he answered by pulling it over his head.

“Oh.” You breathed, gently running your fingers down the length of his stomach. You felt his breath hitch and his muscles tense. You shivered. It was then that you needed to get rid of your clothes —  you were too warm and the fabric felt itchy against your skin. So, in rapid movements, you stripped from your red top and pants. The only thing that remained was the matching lace undergarments you had decided to wear.

Steve couldn’t help but take all of you in. He wanted you. He needed you, bad. In the blink of an eye, he was pushing his body against yours, his lips hard and demanding as they placed kiss after kiss to your own. Without a second thought, you tugged at his belted jeans, yanking the buckle harshly in a successful attempt to open it. God, you wanted to feel him harden against your palm. To grow so thick that your fingers wouldn’t be able to close around him. When you finally took hold of his cock, you moaned. He was already hard and pulsing.

“Oh god,” You panted between desperate kisses, stroking and tugging at his engorged flesh.

The muscles in his lower abdomen tensed and he bit at your bottom lip, “I need you.” Steve growled, his hands travelling down your neck and arms coming to a stop at your rear, clad in the thin lace of your underwear. Giving your ass a harsh squeeze, he ordered, “Jump.” which you did, wrapping your legs around his hips and jerking your hands away from his cock. You held onto his shoulders as the super soldier walked you closer to the bed behind you.

Without breaking contact, he lowered you to the bed, his hands moving from your ass to your thighs, spreading them. You were so wet for him. He could see it through damp lace. There was no mistaking the glistening slick between your labia folds. Steve licked his lips. It had been so long. So very long. He hesitated for a moment before giving your clit a quick flick with his thumb.

Your hips jolted towards him and before you could recover, he did it again, only with this tongue. He devoured you, pulling deep guttural moans from you. Hands tangled in his tousled hair, you pushed his face closer needing to feel him deeper. You ached to have his hard cock inside of you. “Oh fuck.” Your legs began to shake as he circled your clit roughly with his fingers. “Steve, Fuck me.” You sputtered.

The pressure that had been building in your lower abdomen began to lessen as his ministrations stopped.

“I thought you’d never ask.” His voice was barely audible over your harsh pants. Sitting back on his heels, Steve finished pulling his jeans down, dragging his boxer-briefs off as well. Once finished, he leaned back down over you, tugging your panties to the side as he settled between your legs.

You bit at your bottom lip and took hold of his cock once again, tip dripping. You dragged your thumb across the slit earning a hiss from the blond above you. Grabbing your hand, Steve placed it above your head and pushed into you. “Oh fuck.” You choked back a groan as he thrust, setting a steady pace. With each forward jerk of his hips, you arched into him. He completely filled you, making you feel whole. Complete.

Steve couldn’t believe how good you felt around him. Your body moved perfectly in sync with his. He could lose himself in the pleasure. In fact, he was. He was so enthralled with the way your bodies joined he couldn’t see or hear anything but you. He pitched forward, burying his head in the side of your neck and taking hold of your hips. He needed to be deeper, to feel you tighten against him. He wanted you to come undone around his cock.

You wrapped your legs around his waist to change the angle of his trusts and nearly screamed as he slammed into you harder, faster. With each one, he hit your g-spot. The first man to ever find it. To ever make you feel alight with fire. To make you feel as if you were drowning. “Do. Not. Stop.” You weren’t sure if you had said the words or thought them, but Steve didn’t stop, instead, he pulled your hips closer to his and fucked you deeper. Your nails bit into his shoulder blades and raked down his back as you called his name over and over again.

He was close and the sound of you mewling his name didn’t help. The harder you clawed at his back, the faster he thrust into you. He could feel you pulse around him, needing release just as much as he did. The more you squeezed him, the more difficulty Steve had controlling himself. He couldn’t come. Not yet, he needed to feel you… “Shit!” He bellowed, releasing himself deep inside of you. His moans were strangled and continued to fuck you through his orgasm, his cum spilling out around his cock.

Your thighs trembled as your orgasm built until you gave a silent gasp, your body tensing and arching off of the bed. You had never felt so light in your life. If Steve hadn’t been laying on you, you could have sworn you’d have floated into the night sky.

After a few quiet moments, the blond placed an exhausted kiss to your forehead before rolling to the side, an arm sprawled across your abdomen. You didn’t want to say anything. The post-coital bliss that seemed to surround the two of you was perfect. It said everything and nothing about what had happened and the situation as a whole. But you couldn’t stay there. In his bed.

Looking over at the now fast asleep man beside you, you finally made a decision. It was easy to slip out of his bed and even easier to put your clothes back on. What wasn’t easy was deciding whether or not you should leave a note. What would you say? Thanks for fucking my brains out? Hope to see you again? Call me? In the end, you thought it would be better to leave it as it was, a one night stand between strangers who only knew first names.

And his was Steve. The only man to ever make you come without clitoral stimulation. The only one to make you forget time and space. He was the only man that it hurt to leave.

[risualto]

[For the OC ask]: The proper representation for what I want to send would be one of those 20-packs of pens. I always love to hear you gush about your OC's, so take up to three pens and go wild with something you've been dying to share!

🖊 Junisce is really good at tying knots and braiding hair as a result of using leather as a fidget toy for most of her childhood.  She can do really intricate braids really quickly, and the only two people who have ever been able to untie a knot she tied (specifically for the purpose of making it difficult) were the Devil of Caroc and Serafen.

🖊 Lila can’t sing for shit but she's really good at dancing.  She wasn’t trained, but she can copy footwork just like that, and she’s very good at reading the movements of the people around her.  She highkey wanted to take Xoti out dancing on their first date, but didn’t because she was too worried Xoti would think it was weird given everything else about Lila.  (Spoiler: Xoti thinks it’s incredibly cool and also quite attractive.)

🖊 My other disaster child, Montgomery, got a hug from the woman he might be developing a crush on, Lorelei, after convincing her (severely mentally ill and traumatized) brother not to gaslight her into leaving their D&D party.  He’s still processing these emotions, and it’s terrifying to him, but there’s also a voice in the back of his head that’s wondering if the brother is going to be okay the way that they left him.  And it’s kind of the first time that’s happened, where he cares as much about the fate of someone who is virtually a stranger to him, just because he knows someone else might care.  He’s unlocking his deeper sense of empathy for the first time, and it’s really tough because the feelings are overwhelming.  He already sees himself as responsible for his party, as their leader.  I think my next big challenge with this character is going to be him figuring out how to juggle that responsibility with a growing sense that every life he encounters has the same amount of value to someone that his friends do to him.  Also, figuring out how to process the crush because.  Aaaaaaaaaa.

a couple bonus TPS pens (since you asked for like 20) under the cut:  

🖊 Brandon adores fantasy/scifi and is highkey a Star Trek fan.  He’s Kirk over Picard, but not to the degree his personality would make you expect; he cried when Tasha Yar died, but only his mom knows about that.  Part of his bisexual awakening definitely had to do with a TV adaptation of some fantasy YA novel that got popular in the early 21XXs.

🖊 When Nick and Jay first met, Nick was humming “Heroes” by Måns Zelmerlöw in a parking lot.  Jay ran up to him, recognizing the song since she also is really, really into older music, and got about halfway through genuinely complimenting his voice and asking for his number before she realized who it was (one of the other popular kids from her school, in front of whom she keeps up a facade of airheaded shallowness).  Nick, on the other hand, took the entire time she was “introducing” herself trying to convince himself that this couldn’t possibly be Jay and was just someone who looked a lot like her.  He was fully convinced it was a weird fever dream, so he just smiled and went along with it, and then proceeded to freak out the next day when her number was still in his contacts because that meant it was real.

🖊  Though Ayumo is half Japanese, he hasn’t used the language since he was 7 years old, and has consequently forgotten almost all of it.  He can still understand the gist of a conversation in Japanese if he overhears it or if someone speaks to him, but can’t speak it back.  He comes to regret the fact that this is a skill he’s lost by the time the whole Yavin incident is over with, and goes to study his mother’s tongue while in college.  It was extremely gratifying to him that, even after almost 20 years at that point, he could still make the “r” sound correctly thanks to having learned it as a child.

[cromulentbookreview]

Bee. Key. Sword. Jackalope.

There is a book reviewer writing a review on a computer.

(The book reviewer is a metaphor for a failed librarian who is also a failed writer who writes reviews of other people’s books because they’ve failed at writing one of their own). 

(The computer is definitely a dungeon of some sort. Or a black hole).

The reviewer writes reviews of a review-y nature considered good enough for the likes of the depths of tumblr. No one reads them.

(That last bit isn’t a metaphor, but a literal truth).

By that, I mean: The Starless Sea by Erin Morning Star Morgenstern!

Zachary Ezra Rawlins is a grad student studying video games at a perpetually snow-bound university somewhere in Vermont. (Since it’s in Vermont, I figure it’s OK to imagine everyone there has a Bernie Sanders accent). One day during the bleak January term, Zachary is in the library searching for something good to read. He comes across an odd, authorless book in the stacks called Sweet Sorrows. 

Quick side note: Morning Star Morgenstern writes that this particular university library in Vermont uses the Dewey Decimal System - since Sweet Sorrows has no author, it’s shelved in the U’s for “Unknown.” It’s strange that a university would use Dewey as most research and academic libraries in the United States utilize Library of Congress. At least, that’s what they taught us in library school. Hey, my MLIS is finally good for something! Anyway, I don’t know if things are done differently in Vermont or what. I do know that Melvil Dewey was a total asshole, though.

Back to The Starless Sea. Sweet Sorrows is a bit of a library mystery: a it’s only ever been scanned into the system once, when it was added to the collection. It has never been checked out. For some reason, the librarians haven’t noticed this and weeded it out of the collection. Anyway, Zachary is drawn to it so he checks it out. Once back in his dorm he starts to read it and is shocked to find that, among some disjointed fairy tales about pirates and tongueless acolytes, is a story recounting, in great detail, like, even down to details concerning his shoelaces, an incident from his own childhood. Something he’s never told anyone about, and had kind of half-forgotten. All laid out in a book that is clearly much, much older than he is. 

When Zachary was a kid he found a painted door in an alleyway near his mom’s house. The door was so detailed it almost seemed real. In fact, when he reached out to touch it, the painted door had an actual doorknob. Zachary almost, but ultimately didn’t, open the door. All this is recounted in Sweet Sorrows. Zachary, of course, is freaked out and wants some answers, but the book has no copyright page or publication information in it. However, when Zachary peels off the bar code sticker (my inner librarian winced at that) he finds a clue: three symbols, a bee, a key and a sword. 

One Google image search later, Zachary finds a photo of a woman at an annual, literary-themed masquerade party thrown by the Algonquin Hotel. She’s wearing a necklace with, you guessed it, a bee, a key, and a sword. It’s all Zachary has to go with, so he snags a ticket to the upcoming masquerade.

Then things get weird, but in a good way. Zachary is brought into this weird underground library/world/place that is full of stories. It sounds like an introvert’s paradise, full of books and cats and a kitchen that make anything you ask if you just send a note down on the dumbwaiter...but this place isn’t entirely safe. There are people intent on keeping others away from it. In fact, those people have a whole secret society with a headquarters and everything where they hang doorknobs everywhere.

Plus, there’s an ocean made of honey, which sounds super sticky.

I told you, things get weird.

Anyway, Zachary finds himself teaming up with a pink-haired woman called Mirabel, who was born in this underground introvert’s paradise and is determined to protect it. Then there’s the guy whose name may-or-may-not-be Dorian - a gorgeous storyteller to whom Zachary is immediately drawn, but who knows what Dorian’s actual agenda (or name) truly is?

Reading The Starless Sea is like reading a transcript of a memory of a dream you had once that may or may not have been a hallucination from that time you had a 103 degree fever from pneumonia or it could’ve been a memory of a thing you actually did, you have no idea...but all in a good way. Plus a book of strange/relevant fairy tales and myths sprinkled in between. It is definitely a bit confusing at first, but if you stick to it, all the weirdness does eventually coalesce into a cohesive story. It does make sense! Eventually.The Starless Sea is definitely one of those books that would make more sense when read twice, and probably all at once. Not over the course of like, two weeks the way I did. Since I am somehow incapable of reading a 400-or-so-page book in one sitting (how do people manage that, really? I mean, I know I’m a slow reader, but who can read a book that fast?) most of the time reading The Starless Sea I felt like Homer watching Twin Peaks.

Perhaps others might understand the story better the first go around and I just missed something - it wouldn’t surprise me, I am a bit of a moron. No, seriously, for the longest time I thought it was just a coincidence that Joe Hill looked a hell of a lot like Stephen King. It was also quite recently that I realized that Jackalopes weren’t a real thing. Which, I mean, come on, Jackalopes seem like they could be a real thing, right? I’ve lived in and traveled around the American West my whole life and I’ve seen some giant-ass jackrabbits, it definitely seems plausible that there are jackrabbits out there with antlers, namely, Jackalopes, living it up somewhere out in the high desert. That seems possible! I mean, maybe they’re just cousins to your regular old jackrabbit! I mean, have you ever seen a white-tailed jackrabbit? 

They’re huge! I mean, I know the Alaskan and Arctic hares are technically larger but those live up North, I’m talking about the giant-ass bunnies I’ve seen around in the Pacific Northwest. They look a little bit like mini kangaroos! 

I mean, come on! Look at this black-tailed jackrabbit/mini kangaroo!

So one of those but with antlers seems like something that could be a real thing and it’s not at all dumb to sort-of peripherally believe that they were, indeed, a real thing, they just live in the desert and the desert is the worst and it takes too long to get there...So, OK, Jackalopes are actually a myth and I didn’t figure that out until I was a grown-ass adult. But hey, in fairness to me and my brain, Jackalopes are technically based on a real thing, if you’ve ever seen a rabbit with Shope papilloma virus. So, I mean, I’m not 100% a moron, right? I mean, definitely not a Class-A Moron, maybe like a Class-D or a Class-E Moron...

Where was I before all this?

Oh. Yeah. The Starless Sea. This is still, somehow, technically a book review. Whatever, this blog promises cromulent reviews, not reviews that remain focused and on topic.

Video games play a huge role in the story, as Zachary is a graduate student studying emerging media, focusing on - you guessed it - video games. My knowledge of video games is, er, not great - I used to play with my brother’s old 1989 Game Boy when I was a kid in the early 2000s. All those hours of Tetris really did pay off.

And sometimes I did beat Super Mario Land.

Anyway, the whole novel does have a dreamy, video-game-esque quality to it - there’s a lot of wandering around, acquiring objects, going on quests, that sort of thing. The imagery Morning Star Morgenstern features throughout the book would certainly make a gorgeous, kickass video game, definitely something I’d stand over one of my gamer friend’s shoulders and watch them play.  Morning Star Morgenstern is quite good at giving us a whole picture of what the world of the underground library/introvert’s paradise is like - utilizing not just descriptions of what’s there, but descriptions of all the different smells, textures and tastes - plus she manages to do it without making the writing sound clunky or interrupting the flow of the story itself. You can almost feel the stickiness that underground honey sea. 

Speaking of which, what would a sea of honey smell like? I don’t imagine it would smell great. Also, sailing a wooden boat on a sea of honey sounds like a nightmare. I mean, you’d spend pretty much all your time cleaning crystallized honey out of the woodwork.

Anyway, if you were a fan of Ms. Morning Star Morgenstern’s previous novel, The Night Circus, it goes without saying that you’ll definitely love The Starless Sea as well. 

RECOMMENDED FOR: Fans of The Night Circus, anyone in the mood for a weird, trippy, timey-wimey video-game-esque novel that takes a while to make sense.

NOT RECOMMENDED FOR: Anyone easily confused or looking for a straightforward narrative

RATING: 4/5

RELEASE DATE: November 5, 2019

JACKALOPE: