#she has a bunch of these in her book I really like the different spaces between the waves of this one

[beatriceportinari]

Curve study, Origami, one piece of paper

#mine #origami #curved origami #ekaterina lukasheva #she has a bunch of these in her book I really like the different spaces between the waves of this one #rendered in my printer paper-mulberry mix which is again PERFECT for curved origami #the middle pic was taken outside crazy how the lighting hitting differently can do for the volumes and the paper texture #i took so many photos lol

[blacktabbygames]

Slay the Princess Concept Art

We shared a bunch of concept art on Twitter today. Sharing it here, too, where you can find it all in one post. Post contains spoilers, so proceed with caution (or just play the game already if you haven't 😉)

Going to start with the first piece of concept art Abby drew for the game.

In the earliest stages of development, we toyed around with the concept of there being multiple "end game" forms of the Princess.

The initial outline, rather than being tied together by an overarching metanarrative, structured a full playthrough as a 5-6 chapter long, self-contained journey down a single route, determined by your decisions in chapter 1. Here's an alternative late-game form:

The idea of deviating end-game forms didn't lost for very long, though. As we explored the game's themes more deeply, it made the most sense for there to be a singular "true" form.

If your reality is shaped by subjectivity and perception, then the "truth" has to be what's left when that subjectivity is swept away. the Shifting Mound's final design feels like that initial truth for the Princess, though there's also another truth if you push back against her and press on into the final cabin.

We really liked this "void" design, and I played around with the idea of it being an intermediary to the final form. The "void" Princess would be what you saw upon encountering the final Princess without understanding your own truth, but once you had that understanding, you would see her as the Shifting Mound, as depicted in the game.

That gave way to the intermediary design of the SM being a sea of disembodied limbs, and we also took parts of both designs and incorporated them into the protagonist (particularly the wings.) You can see the eyes and feathers for this void form in the ending card of the original trailer below:

You can see extremely early concept art for the spectre (top), nightmare (top-right), stranger (left), beast (bottom) and ??? (right) as well!

The eyes became a motif in the Nightmare route (Paranoid's manifestation of the fear of being watched), but I also like to think of them as a part of The Long Quiet's truth. You are space and emptiness, but you're also that which observes those things, and it's your perceptions that give the Shifting Mound shape.

Anyways, on the note of the original original concepts for the game, the Princess was initially going to remain human for several loops before taking on more monstrous forms. Some concepts of that are below. Had to get Abby to tone down some of the more horrifically cartoonish designs because they creeped me out and I didn't want to romance them in a video game.

We had to hold our cards close to our chest in the non-metanarrative early drafts, which is part of why, even in the first demo, the cabin doesn't really change much in chapter 2. More room to subtly play with the concept of transformation over time.

There were a lot of reasons we moved in a different direction for the full release. The branching was unmanageably large to write, and the game felt like a slog to write.

Using an overarching narrative as a framing mechanism in the final version gave us a lot more freedom to explore wildly divergent ideas within routes while still driving the player towards the originally planned finale.

Anyways, now we've got some concept art for individual princesses. There's a lot more than this lying around somewhere, but it's all in sketchbooks, and we'll probably wait until we make an art book to show it off.

First is the tower, who really didn't change much at all. (She got a little thicker, I guess. All of the Princesses did)

Not a lot to say about her, other than the fact that we knew we wanted a set piece where she gets so big that the trees and cabin orbit around her.

The stranger went through many many redesigns over the course of development. Here, she was a "princess skin" filled with a hive of sentient bugs. The script wasn't working for me, though, so instead she became a peak behind the curtains without the necessary context to know her.

A lot of people ask how these earlier drafts of the Stranger route would have played out, and the answer is I can't tell you, because I couldn't figure out something worth writing.

The writing process for individual routes didn't really start with outlines or plot beats. Rather, the routes started from a theme and a relationship dynamic, and I organically found their outcomes by exploring actions within those themes, and then seeing if those passed Abby's editor brain.

Neither of us found actions we wanted to explore with those versions of the Stranger, at least actions that weren't a beat-by-beat retelling of chapter 1, which contained way too much variation to put on a single chapter 2 route.

If each princess examines a relationship formed by perception and first impressions, the Stranger examines one that's fundamentally unknowable. One where you've seen too much, too quickly.

An insect hive-mind pretending to be a person seemed like a good starting point, but it was too difficult to write any interactions that didn't immediately feel knowable, if still strange. So the final version of the Stranger was designed in such a way where her unknowability makes interacting with her on a human level fundamentally impossible, and you don't get to have a real conversation with her unless you satisfy extremely specific criteria.

Anyways next up is the razor's final form. We decided she needed more swords.

Hearts became an accidental motif very quickly in the development process, too. (The fact that it is only strikes to the heart that fell her in the demo was accidental, but it felt poetic so we extended it to the rest of the game.)

So on top of adding more swords, we made her heart visible. This is something we did with the fury as well, as a way of showing their emotional (and physical) vulnerability.

Here's an early version of the Adversary and what would eventually become the Eye of the Needle, back when she was still called the Fury. Originally her hair was going to be fire (as seen on the right), but it didn't feel right in its execution.

She's hit the gym since this concept art. Good for her :)

And we're going to end with the Beast, who at this point was called the Adversary. I think this was before the Witch was added? The Beast was originally designed to be a Questing Beast who lurked in the shadows, where you'd only see glimpses of her, and where each glimpse would make her appear to be a different animal. This was too difficult to execute, though we gave her a more chimera-like appearance in the final game.

This design was from when we still has the Voice of the Obsessed, and the route was going to be a more feral mirror of what eventually became the Adversary, but it felt too thematically similar while being less interesting, so we moved in the direction of making the Beast about consumption as a form of love.

Anyways, that's all we've got for you right now. Hope this was fun!

#slay the princess #interactive fiction #character design

[vaspider]

In defense of retellings & reimaginings

I'm not going to respond to the post that sparked this, because honestly, I don't really feel like getting in an argument, and because it's only vaguely even about the particular story that the other post discussed. The post in question objected to retellings of the Rape of Persephone which changed important elements of the story -- specifically, Persephone's level of agency, whether she was kidnapped, whether she ate seeds out of hunger, and so on. It is permissible, according to this thesis, to 'fill in empty spaces,' but not to change story elements, because 'those were important to the original tellers.' (These are acknowledged paraphrases, and I will launch you into the sun if you nitpick this paragraph.)

I understand why to the person writing that, that perspective is important, and why they -- especially as a self-described devotee of Persephone -- feel like they should proscribe boundaries around the myth. It's a perfectly valid perspective to use when sorting -- for example -- which things you choose to read. If you choose not to read anything which changes the elements which you feel are important, I applaud you.

However, the idea that one should only 'color in missing pieces,' especially when dealing with stories as old, multi-sourced, and fractional as ancient myths, and doing so with the argument that you shouldn't change things because those base elements were important to the people who originally crafted the stories, misses -- in my opinion -- the fundamental reason we tell stories and create myths in the first place.

Forgive me as I get super fucking nerdy about this. I've spent the last several years of my life wrestling with the concept of myths as storytelling devices, universality of myths, and why myths are even important at all as part of writing on something like a dozen books (a bunch of which aren't out yet) for a game centered around mythology. A lot of the stuff I've written has had to wrestle with exactly this concept -- that there is a Sacred Canon which cannot be disrupted, and that any disregard of [specific story elements] is an inexcusable betrayal.

Myths are stories we tell ourselves to understand who we are and what's important to us as individuals, as social groups, and as a society. The elements we utilize or change, those things we choose to include and exclude when telling and retelling a story, tell us what's important to us.

I could sit down and argue over the specific details which change over the -- at minimum -- 1700 years where Persephone/Kore/Proserpina was actively worshiped in Greek and Roman mystery cults, but I actually don't think those variations in specific are very important. What I think is important, however, is both the duration of her cults -- at minimum from 1500 BCE to 200CE -- and the concept that myths are stories we tell ourselves to understand who we are and what's important to us.

The idea that there was one, or even a small handful, of things that were most important to even a large swath of the people who 'originally' told the store of the Rape of Persephone or any other 'foundational' myth of what is broadly considered 'Western Culture,' when those myths were told and retold in active cultic worship for 1700 years... that seems kind of absurd to me on its face. Do we have the same broad cultural values as the original tellers of Beowulf, which is only (heh) between 1k-1.3k years old? How different are our marital traditions, our family traditions, and even our language? We can, at best, make broad statements, and of inclusive necessity, those statements must be broad enough as to lose incredible amounts of specificity. In order to make definitive, specific statements, we must leave out large swaths of the people to whom this story, or any like it, was important.

To move away from the specific story brought up by the poster whose words spun this off, because it really isn't about that story in particular, let's use The Matter of Britain/Arthuriana as our framing for the rest of this discussion. If you ask a random nerd on Tumblr, they'd probably cite a handful of story elements as essential -- though of course which ones they find most essential undoubtedly vary from nerd to nerd -- from the concept that Camelot Always Falls to Gawain and the Green Knight, Percival and the grail, Lancelot and Guinevere...

... but Lancelot/Guinevere and Percival are from Chrétien de Troyes in the 12th century, some ~500 years after Taliesin's first verses. Lancelot doesn't appear as a main character at all before de Troyes, and we can only potentially link him to characters from an 11th century story (Culhwch and Olwen) for which we don't have any extant manuscripts before the 15th century. Gawain's various roles in his numerous appearances are... conflicting characterizations at best.

The point here is not just that 'the things you think are essential parts of the story are not necessarily original,' or that 'there are a lot of different versions of this story over the centuries,' but also 'what you think of as essential is going to come back to that first thesis statement above.' What you find important about The Matter of Britain, and which story elements you think can be altered, filed off or filled in, will depend on what that story needs to tell you about yourself and what's important to you.

Does creating a new incarnation of Arthur in which she is a diasporic lesbian in outer space ruin a story originally about Welsh national identity and chivalric love? Does that disrespect the original stories? How about if Arthur is a 13th century Italian Jew? Does it disrespect the original stories if the author draws deliberate parallels between the seduction of Igerne and the story of David and Bathsheba?

Well. That depends on what's important to you.

Insisting that the core elements of a myth -- whichever elements you believe those to be -- must remain static essentially means 'I want this myth to stagnate and die.' Maybe it's because I am Jewish, and we constantly re-evaluate every word in Torah, over and over again, every single year, or maybe it's because I spend way, way too much time thinking about what's valuable in stories specifically because I write words about these concepts for money, but I don't find these arguments compelling at all, especially not when it comes to core, 'mainstream' mythologies. These are tools in the common toolbox, and everybody has access to them.

More important to me than the idea that these core elements of any given story must remain constant is, to paraphrase Dolly Parton, that a story knows what it is and does it on purpose. Should authors present retellings or reimaginings of the Rape of Persephone or The Matter of Britain which significantly alter historically-known story elements as 'uncovered' myths or present them as 'the real and original' story? Absolutely not. If someone handed me a book in which the new Grail was a limited edition Macklemore Taco Bell Baja Blast cup and told me this comes directly from recently-discovered 6th century writings of Taliesin, I would bonk them on the head with my hardcover The Once & Future King. Of course that's not the case, right?

But the concept of canon, historically, in these foundational myths has not been anything like our concept of canon today. Canon should function like a properly-fitted corset, in that it should support, not constrict, the breath in the story's lungs. If it does otherwise, authors should feel free to discard it in part or in whole.

Concepts of familial duty and the obligation of marriage don't necessarily resonate with modern audiences the way that the concept of self-determination, subversion of unreasonable and unjustified authority, and consent do. That is not what we, as a general society, value now. If the latter values are the values important to the author -- the story that the author needs to tell in order to express who they are individually and culturally and what values are important to them* -- then of course they should retell the story with those changed values. That is the point of myths, and always has been.

Common threads remain -- many of us move away from family support regardless of the consent involved in our relationships, and life can be terrifying when you're suddenly out of the immediate reach and support of your family -- because no matter how different some values are, essential human elements remain in every story. It's scary to be away from your mother for the first time. It's scary to live with someone new, in a new place. It's intimidating to find out that other people think you have a Purpose in life that you need to fulfill. It's hard to negotiate between the needs of your birth family and your chosen family.

None of this, to be clear, is to say that any particular person should feel that they need to read, enjoy, or appreciate any particular retelling, or that it's cool, hip and groovy to misrepresent your reworking of a myth as a 'new secret truth which has always been there.' If you're reworking a myth, be truthful about it, and if somebody told you 'hey did you know that it really -- ' and you ran with that and find out later you were wrong, well, correct the record. It's okay to not want to read or to not enjoy a retelling in which Arthur, Lancelot and Guinevere negotiate a triad and live happily ever after; it's not really okay to say 'you can't do that because you changed a story element which I feel is non-negotiable.' It's okay to say 'I don't think this works because -- ' because part of writing a story is that people are going to have opinions on it. It's kind of weird to say 'you're only allowed to color inside these lines.'

That's not true, and it never has been. Greek myths are not from a closed culture. Roman myths are not sacrosanct. There are plenty of stories which outsiders should leave the hell alone, but Greek and Roman myths are simply not on that list. There is just no world in which you can make an argument that the stories of the Greek and Roman Empires are somehow not open season to the entire English-speaking world. They are the public-est of domain.

You don't have to like what people do with it, but that doesn't make people wrong for writing it, and they certainly don't have to color within the lines you or anyone else draws. Critique how they tell the story, but they haven't committed some sort of cultural treachery by telling the stories which are important to them rather than the stories important to someone 2500 years dead.

****

*These are not the only reasons to tell a story and I am not in any way saying that an author is only permitted to retell a story to express their own values. There are as many reasons to tell a story as there are stories, and I don't really think any reason to create fiction is more or less valid than any other. I am discussing, specifically, the concept of myths as conveyors of essential cultural truths.

[katiexpunk]

You may have done this before, I haven’t read all your work, but How about Joel and Tommy (or just Joel 😜) take you on a horse ride, out into the woods and end up having a fun time on the grass

Tell Me a Secret | Pairing Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Non, thank you so much for this request. I hope you enjoy this! I love getting requests from ya'll, makes my heart so happy.xx As a side note, this will be my final fic as an unmarried woman. My wedding is in less than a month (!!!!)

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

Word Count: 7.8K | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Warnings: References to canon typical violence. It's hinted that readers father was abusive. Death. Blood. Reader is an artist. Ellie/Sarah/Tommy/Maria and others are referenced in this. Ellie and Reader are friends. Alcohol. Angst. Horses. Pining. Oral (female receiving). Praise kink. Pet names. Emotional sex. Very unprotected sex. They fuck outside, but nobody is around. Joel makes a questionable choice in this one that invades readers privacy. Breeding kink if you squint. Creampie. Fingering. Lots of references to art and poetry. A surprise ending that might mean more later on... Immersibility: Reader has no physical descriptions apart from having hair, breasts, and a uterus. It is noted at one point that there is charcoal visible on her hands. No age gap is mentioned (make it your own). Creative Credits: the middle image of the graphic is a drawing by @kamal.classic.art on Instagram. The poem referenced at the end is by Olivia Ann Rose. The opening section is modified poetry from Brianna Pastor. Inspiration was pulled from the lake scene in The Princess Diaries 2. And shout out to our boi Leonardo da Vinci, cuz I reference the Mona Lisa.

It’s really easy to be angry. 

Over the years, anger became so familiar to you that you had a difficult time differentiating between that and your sadness. Both felt equally daunting. 

It’s difficult to work on your sadness with its roots are boiling with anger. Both don’t always look the way one might expect them to. Sometimes, the face of anger is neutral, a quiet rumble you don’t notice because it’s buried so deep. 

That steady stream of anger and hurt seemed to trickle into every single thing that you did. You had become cold and numb to the reality of the world around you; an empty shell of who you once were. 

And then you met Joel Miller.  

He came along and started to nurture what you buried so deep that you eventually forgot what was even planted there. 

And you did the same for him. 

Like the sun, you elevated the ordinary with a simple touch. Your rays warmed the cockles of his heart he thought had gone so cold they could never be revived. 

This is that story. 

++++

It doesn’t take Ellie long to figure it out. 

“Hey, give me that back!” You snap at her, attempting to pull the tattered notebook from her hands, but it’s pointless. Her tiny fingers must have been sumo wrestlers in another life, you wager. Putting space between both of your bodies by quickly walking backward, she locks eyes with you until her back is up against the makeshift bookshelf. 

This is your favorite place in all of the Jackson – the makeshift library Maria started a few months back.  It’s not much, but with your help, the collection is starting to grow. You’re quick to stuff books into your pack on raids and have summoned a handful of the townspeople to aid in this effort. It’s always quiet and peaceful; a stark contrast to the world outside the walls that keep you safe here. 

Well, that was until a rather foul-mouthed 14-year-old named Ellie arrived in town. Despite your age difference, you two have become fast friends, even if she does annoy the shit out of you sometimes. 

“Ellie, I am so serious right now, please give my notebook back,” you plead with her from across the room, your hands on your hips, a serious undertone to your voice. 

“Why? Whatcha trying to hide so bad? Drawing a bunch of dicks or something?” she jokes. 

When you don’t respond, her eyes widen in surprise. “Holy shit, dude. You are drawing a bunch of dicks, aren’t you!” she teases, resting the pads of her fingers in between the pages of the notebook, slightly parting the paper. All she’d have to do is move them a little and the pages would fall open, revealing your secrets faster than a Catholic at confession. 

She starts to crack the spine of the notebook, but your voice calling out once more causes her pause. “No, wait, Ellie, stop,” you say a tad softer this time. “I’m not drawing a bunch of dicks, and even if I were, that’s not something you should be looking at – it’s…personal,” you respond, hoping the sincerity and softness you’re attempting to frost over the obvious bite of anger behind your voice will encourage her to listen.

She stares back at you, scanning your face up and down for a hint of the truth, thinking for a few moments. 

“Fine,” she says. Your shoulders fall from your ears and the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding escapes from your lungs. She walks back over to you and extends her arm out, the notebook in hand, preparing to hand it over to you as if she’s some sort of General accepting a truce deal. 

As you reach out to grab it, she lets it slip from her hands a few seconds too early. A nearly silent oops escapes her lips. The notebook falls to the floor with an audible thud, dropping as fast as a dead body, its pages falling open on both sides, like blood spilling on the floor. 

Before you register what’s even happening, Ellie already has her knees on the floor, hovering over the open pages, a look of astonishment and delight on her face. 

“Whoa – is that,” she asks, but before she can finish her sentence, you’re quickly snatching it up, snapping it closed with an audible thud. You both rise, and she’s looking at you, a smug smile of knowing on her face. Her smile grows like she’s just found some sort of secret treasure. “That was me, wasn’t it?” It’s a rhetorical question, she already knows the answer. 

You consider lying, but fuck it, you’re in too deep at this point. Plus, she may be only 14, but she’s smart as a whip, and you know she’d be able to call your bullshit from a mile away. Besides, she already saw the damn thing. 

“Yes, okay, Ellie. Fine,” you concede. “It’s you. I – I like to draw,” you admit sheepishly like you’re afraid of what might come if you say it out loud. 

It’s not that you’re not proud of your drawings, you are. The only thing you can attribute to your unwillingness to share your hobby with the world is akin to a trauma response. 

Memories of your father ripping up your first notebook of drawings, the one he found under your pillow when you were a teenager, flash through your mind. Goosebumps litter your body when you swear you can still hear his raspy voice, harsh from the burn of whiskey, telling you that drawing won’t pay the bills and to knock that shit off or he’ll beat it out of you. He wasn’t particularly a man of his word, but somehow, he managed to keep that one. You’re not sure when the anger started to creep in, but you think it might have been then. Watching your hard work darken and crumble in the fire almost hurt worse than the sear his belt left behind. 

“You were reading your comic over there the other day,” you admit, nodding your head toward the little nook by the window. “The light was just right, and well…I don’t know, I just got inspired and figured I’d give drawing you a shot,” you admit, voice soft and shy. 

“Well you’re pretty fucking good at it,” Ellie admits. 

You shove it down, the spark of happiness her words ignite in you, and it works. For now. 

“Yeah, whatever,” you respond, clutching your not-so-secret secret closer to your chest. You aren’t good at taking compliments; especially now, after everything that’s happened. 

“Can I have it?” Ellie asks. She rolls her eyes for a second, before eventually adding a please to the end of her request. You remember her telling you a few weeks back that Joel has been working with her on manners. You’d only met him once, but as far as you could tell, he was the southern gentleman, wounded dog, not to be fucked with, but still the impossibly polite type of man. The type of man that would punch another guy in the bar for questioning a lady’s honor, or stab him in the kneecap for looking at his girl the wrong way. 

You consider her request for a moment, before eventually deciding that since it is her likeness, she should be the one to have it. You crack open the book, being careful to hide the other pages from her view before the familiar sound of paper ripping fills the room.  You’re careful to tear it in a straight line, close to the spine, so as not to ruin the drawing. 

With her portrait in hand, you bargain, “You can have this under one condition. You can’t tell anyone about this.”  Ellie gives a subtle nod as if to agree. You don’t notice her middle and index fingers crossed tightly behind her back when you hand it over. 

“So you’re sure you don’t have anything super naughty in there?” Ellie teases.

“Alright kid, no more dick jokes or Joel is gonna choke me,” you chide, feeling heat creep up your cheeks. Wouldn’t that be quite the piece of jewelry; a Joel Miller hand necklace. The truth is that while you don’t have anything super naughty, you do have more than one drawing of her guardian hiding in your pages. You’re not sure of much anymore, but there is one thing you do know for certain – those drawings are something she can never, ever, see. Those drawings are something nobody can ever see. 

Ellie was quick to discover your secret.

Good thing it was just one of them. 

You drape your arm over her shoulder and walk out of the library together. 

++++

It all happens so quickly from that moment on. 

It’s only spring, yet the Jackson grapevine is in full bloom, carrying the fruits of your talent to pretty much the whole town. You can’t say you’re surprised. What did you expect from a 14-year-old with minimal entertainment options? 

It starts with Ellie letting it slip to Maria while they’re washing the dishes from family dinner with her, Tommy, and Joel. 

Maria lets it slip to Tommy. 

Tommy lets it slip to Samantha, the town’s soapmaker. 

Samantha lets it slip to Joey, the butcher. 

Joey lets it slip to – well – pretty much everyone else. You wouldn’t have guessed the town's butcher would be such a gossip, but dead cattle don’t make great conversationalists. Before you know it, you’re accepting some sort of art deal over porridge in the dining hall like it’s a shady drug deal. 

“Come on, think of how happy it will make people,” Maria pleads with you. “You only have to do as many as you want,” she adds, looking at you with kind eyes, the ones that are nearly impossible to say no to. 

You stare back at her in silence, attempting to piece together a response in your mind, but your words may as well be a 1,000-piece single-color puzzle at this point. 

“So many of us don’t have those memories anymore. Think of how much it will mean to people to be able to put a drawing of their family up on their walls once more, you know?” she says, laying it on thick. Like how it used to be is what she leaves out. 

“Fine. I’ll do it,” you respond, dropping your spoon on the wooden table next to your half-eaten bowl of breakfast. You feign annoyance, but deep down, you’re excited about the opportunity. Scared shitless, but excited. 

“Yeah? Great. Oh just wait until I tell Tommy, he’s going to be ecstatic,” she says. “Now finish up, can’t have any of that food going to waste,” she quips, before swinging her leg over the bench and adjusting the brim of the cowboy hat on her head as she walks away, a smug look on her face. 

++++

In the following days and weeks, you find yourself immersed in the lives of the residents of Jackson. Setting up your makeshift easel from scrap wood you collected on patrol in living rooms, on front porches, and amidst picturesque landscapes. 

The people, once reserved, slowly begin to open up to you as they share stories and anecdotes of their lives before. It’s sweet, you think – how chatty people get when they have nothing to do but sit there while you try your best to capture their likeness. 

Some conversations are easier than others. Most of the time you just nod your head and let out occasional nods or grunts of agreement, too immersed in your work to listen to what they’re saying, but sometimes you find yourself so engrossed in their stories that the drawings take hours to complete. 

As much as you learn about them, you rarely open up about yourself. Sometimes they ask, sometimes they don’t. Regardless, you feel like the woman you were before no longer exists, she was left to decay with the rest of your family back in Austin. You know she’s in there, buried deep inside, hiding behind a door of anger and tears. Sometimes she cries out, but you buried the key to that lock years ago. No getting out now. 

As the portraits accumulate, so does a sense of connection and unity. You’re no longer an unknown. A threat against resources. When you first arrived in town, you did your best to make yourself useful and show people that you weren’t just dead weight. And it worked, or you think it worked anyway, but the past few weeks have caused a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. Before the apocalypse, you never really saw a place for your artwork or your talent. But now, you can see how it’s becoming a bridge, linking generations and weaving a tapestry of shared histories. Giving people something to cling to, something to hold on to, something to cherish once more.

Of all of the portraits you’ve done so far, your favorite is the one you did of Tommy and Maria. She hasn’t said anything yet, but from the way she placed her hand on her belly, and the way Tommy looked at her, it was pretty easy to guess. You did your best to capture their likeness, knowing it would likely be shown to generations to come. When you showed them the final result, Maria cried and hugged you tighter than you’ve been hugged in years. Their love was obvious – radiant and shiny. If anything were to make you believe in love again, wouldn’t seeing it right in front of your face be it?  You try not to think about it too much when you realize it doesn’t. 

You no longer have to walk the streets of Jackson, bouncing from place to place, alone. There’s always someone to talk to on your journey, or a comfortable silence paired with a subtle wave in the distance, or the occasional sound of a creaky screen door opening for you. Even before things went to shit, you never had this – community. With each finished portrait, you find yourself making a new friend.

You should be happy now. You know that. Your parasympathetic nervous system has had an opportunity to return to its normal state for the first time in years.  You have the warmth of friends, and people like you. Like actually like you. They like what you’re doing, what you’re creating. 

But you aren’t. 

Because while you’re capturing the entire town's attention, you’re starting to realize you only care about attention when it’s from one person.

And unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to give two shits about you or what you create. 

As you lay in bed that night, fidgeting with your necklace, you stare up at the ceiling and think about what started this whole infatuation in the first place. It was a drunken night, hardly anything. Not even a story worth repeating. You shouldn’t even be thinking about it. It was nothing. 

But as you feel sleep calling you into its abyss, you remember the way his voice called your name that night and the heavy feeling of his gaze on your chest. 

It was nothing. 

Nothing.

Nothing. 

Nothing. 

That doesn’t stop you from dreaming about him that night. 

++++

Being the town's only artist comes with its price. While most of the time you don’t mind the endless stream of hellos and requests for additional portraits, you’re not up for much conversation this morning. 

You slept like absolute shit last night and decided that if you weren’t going to sleep through the night, you might as well be productive with your time. When your eyes fluttered closed thinking of what, and who, to draw, the image of Joel sipping a cup of coffee in the dining hall, reading an old Western book from your library, played on the screen of your heavy lids. You decided to put your feelings on paper and start a new portrait. After you woke up from your dream, probably around 3 am you guessed, you stayed up late enough to see the sun rise over the horizon, before eventually deciding that it was too late, early for most, to go to bed now. 

Seeking solitude and shielding yourself from prying eyes, you make yourself at home in the stables. You perch on a weathered stool in the corner of the barn, perfectly positioned in the corner so your back is supported, and begin sketching the handsome grump. As if he was right in front of you, his features are regal; sharp jawline decorated with a salt and pepper beard, one of the patches faintly shaped like a heart, dark brown eyes that resemble those of a deer, the crinkled lines around his eyes and forehead that serve as proof of age. Arguably your favorite feature is his nose. Prominent, aquiline, like a bow that perfectly ties all of his facial features together. Joel Miller is one beautiful fucking man.

Completely immersed in your world, you lose track of time. You could have been sketching for twenty minutes or three hours, who’s to say. Exhaustion envelopes you in an embrace and you doze off in a peaceful slumber. 

When Joel enters the stable for his morning shift, he catches a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye; perched up on a rickety old stool, head slumped over, resting on the wooden edge of the barn. Your arms are wrapped snuggly around your chest as if to keep yourself warm in the dewy morning air. As he approaches closer, treading carefully against the hay as if he were a cat trying to sneak up on its prey, he takes in the finer details of you peacefully asleep, blissfully unaware. 

There’s charcoal on your hands, your lips are slightly parted and there’s a little glisten of drool pooling in the corner of your lips, and your hair slightly covers your face. Jesus, he thinks you’re gorgeous awake, but seeing you asleep – so vulnerable and tender – nearly causes his heart to skip a beat. He tries to ignore what it does to his cock. He knows you’re an artist, but with the way you look right now, hell, you might as well be the artwork, too. 

He thinks he could stare at you for hours, but there’s something more pressing for him to look at first. He’s seen you carry your trusty notebook around, rarely ever setting it down, and certainly being very guarded when you have it cracked open around others – especially him. So when he sees it lying on the ground, he thinks…what could one look hurt? He doesn’t want to invade your privacy, but as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. He’ll be satisfied once he knows what you’re hiding in there. Surely. One look, and he’ll wake you and that will be it. 

After all, it’s just a peek. 

He’s not quite sure what he expected, but this was most definitely not it. As if he were looking into a mirror, his reflection stares back at him from the dull matte of the pages. As he flips from one page to the next, he swears time stops altogether as he takes it in. Your secret. 

As he scans the pages, something burns deep in the marrow of his bones, a fire and heat that exists only for you. Now that he knows your truth, he’s not sure he can stop what he does next. His large palm floats out to caress the underside of your jaw, and the pad of his thumb ghosts over the soft swell of your bottom lip. Before he lets himself get too carried away in his thoughts, he clears his throat. 

“Mornin’,” a husky voice says, startling you. You all but launch into orbit and almost fall over like the stool, but the owner of the intruding voice grabs your elbow before your backside collides with the floor. You’re relieved to see that your saving grace is Joel, yet you’re burning with embarrassment at your clumsiness. 

Joel clears his throat before speaking with his hand still grasping your elbow, “M’pologies, didn’t mean to startle ya, sweetheart.” 

”Oh no, I was just…” you sputter out, still finding your bearings. He reluctantly removes you from his grip but not without letting his fingers trail across your skin as he lets go. The ghost of his touch is a noticeable one. 

“Didn’t sleep well last night, I take it?” Joel asks, a softness to his voice. 

“Afraid not,” you say, kicking your heel into the hay, trying your best to avoid his eyes so as not to spill all of your fucking guts. I was too busy thinking about you.

“You’re in luck, darlin’. I have just the thing to wake you up,” he says, “and ‘m not takin’ no for an answer,” he says with a wink. 

“I’m sorry, am I speaking to Joel Miller? Have you been bitten? Are you feeling alright?” you joke, placing the back of your hand up to his forehead, a giant smile on your face. 

“My reputation of being Jackson’s own Boo Radley precedes me, I see,” he jokes back. 

You shoot him a look that says who the fuck is Boo Radley? Instead of giving you an explanation, he just chuckles like it’s an inside joke. 

“Come on now, we’re goin’ for a ride,” he says with finality. 

You try to ignore the heat that stirs low in your belly at the thought of riding with Joel Miller as he guides you deeper into the stables. 

++++

The sun hangs high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the picturesque landscape of Jackson. Situated in front of Joel on the horse, you close your eyes and exhale all the air from your lungs. You hold your lack of breath for a moment, before feeling your lower belly rise, taking in the crisp air laced with the scent of wildflowers and fresh blades of grass in through your nostrils. 

Joel is an easy-riding partner. He doesn’t say much, yet you feel secure in his presence with your back nestled up against his chest, his thick arms wrapped around you, his capable hands holding the reigns, guiding the horse through the scenic trail with ease. You rub your eyes for a moment before opening them to take in the breathtaking view of the snow-capped mountains far off in the distance, and the lush green meadows that surround you. You almost forgot beauty like this could exist. 

Joel turns his head, following your gaze. A small smile tugs at the corners of his weathered lips as he agrees, "Looks like a good spot to take a break."

Guiding the horse toward the field, you both dismount and allow the horse to graze freely. Joel suddenly remembers he has a blanket tucked away in his saddlebag. He retrieves it and spreads it out in the clearing amidst the vibrant flowers.

Seated on the blanket, you unravel the satchel from over your shoulder and place it on the ground by your side while you simultaneously marvel at the beauty surrounding you. The sun plays hide-and-seek through the branches of nearby trees, creating dappled patterns on the ground. Joel settles beside you, gazing out at the open expanse. 

As you bask in the splendor of the spring day, your attention fully absorbed by the vibrant beauty surrounding you, you inadvertently miss the subtle shift in Joel's focus. His gaze transitions from the scenic view to rest upon you. In a moment of silent admiration, he drinks in the essence of your being. His eyes trace the contours of your profile, lingering on the way the sunlight plays in your hair, transforming it into a golden halo that only seems to make his mouth water more. 

He admires the view of you propped up on your elbows, eyes closed, heart center shining toward the sun, the swell of your breasts painted like a picture before him.

“Tell me your greatest desires,” he says. 

As you open your eyes and turn to face him, as swift as the breeze you feel in your hair, you feel all of the air escape your lungs. Joel Miller is one beautiful fucking man. You’re momentarily lost in your own world as you admire the way he looks like this; relaxed, basking in the sun on a checkered blanket. His dark brown eyes are now a soft shade of amber, the silver streaks are a little more prominent in the sunlight, and the furrow of his brow has lessened. 

“Alright. Tell me a secret” you respond, the corners of your lips threaten to turn up in a smile. You press up off your elbows and roll onto one on your side to face him. 

“Isn’t that the same?” he asks, responding to your movement, mirroring it. 

Now face-to-face, and chest-to-chest with him, inches only separating your bodies, you pause and let your eyes flint to his lips. 

“Anyone can see your desires, no one knows what’s in your heart,” you say. 

“Tell me something,” he says. 

“I still dream of the taste of McDonald’s french fries,” you say, “and I’m not sure I know how to feel happiness anymore,” you say, as a matter a fact. 

Your words reverb through his ears, and he stares at you in silence, unsure of how to respond. 

“I used to be a contractor,” he admits, “and I had a daughter named Sarah.”

You look at him with soft, wide eyes. Pain is visible on your face, taking in what he’s yet to say. When you don’t respond, he adds, “She died in my arms on Outbreak day,” he admits, averting his gaze over your shoulder. His hands have somehow navigated to find a single blade of grass that he toys with in between his fingers. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you pause in silence. Like your words could ever make up for his loss. Everyone had lost someone at this point, but the way he said it, you could tell it still felt fresh to him. 

“It’s alright, Darlin’, next confession,” he says, obviously wanting to change the subject. 

“Ellie,” you chuckle, but you don’t miss the way his eyes light up at the mention of her name. “She’s such a pain in my ass, but she’s probably one of my best friends right now,” you say. Like it should be embarrassing, you, an adult woman, friends with a 14-year-old. 

“Yeah. Little bugger has her way of working her way under your skin, doesn’t she?” he says, bringing his attention back to the panoramic scene laid out in front of you. You notice the smile that graces his face. “Your turn,” you say, this time paying all of your attention to his profile as he stares out to the horizon. 

“I saw your drawings,” he admits, even though every fiber of his being is telling him not to. Your smile fades from your face and your heart sinks. You swear the sun must have navigated light years closer to Earth from the way you feel your skin heat, your blood hot enough to melt bone. You might as well turn to liquid there, melting into Mother Earth.

“Wh–what? What do you mean?” you ask, your voice mostly a tremble. 

“In the barn, this morning… when you were asleep. Your notebook fell to the ground, and well – I saw them,” he decides to leave out the part where he intentionally decided to take a peek, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing the ethics of it. 

You’re nearly one with the core of the Earth, her heat drawing all of the moisture from your mouth, your tongue dry, briefly incapable of forming a response, before your brain lands on the following.

“You mean – you saw – yo,” you start to say before he interrupts you. 

“Yeah, I did,” he admits, once again, a soft tone of honesty behind his voice. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is not happening. This is not happening. 

Mortified, your whole body goes limp and the back of your head falls to the ground. You scrunch your eyes closed as tight as possible as if that might somehow wake you up from the nightmare that this scenario is. You bring your hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose and let yourself absorb all of the nasty and icky feelings of embarrassment that cross your brain. 

When you open your eyes, you start “Joel, I can explai–” he cuts you off with the weight of his body pinning you in place, his lips pressed against yours in an intentional, yet gentle, kiss. It’s stationary at first like he’s just trying to get you to shut up, to save you from the danger that is your thoughts. With your eyes still wide open, you stare back and try to rationalize if this is really fucking happening right now. 

You break the kiss for a moment and look up at him, “Joel, what are you doing?” you ask. 

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I haven’t overthought it like you’re about to,” he admits, staring back at you, “tell me you don’t want this,” he says, hoping you don’t. As if you could ever. When his question is met with no response, he takes that as a green light, and his soft lips once again find yours. 

Your eyes flutter closed, and your arms wrap around his broad shoulders, your fingers interlacing behind his neck. He deepens the kiss with a moan and grinds his hips into yours, the heavy weight of his center pressing deep against yours ignites a firework display of nerves in your body. You can tell from the package that’s pressed up against you that he’s quite big. The strengthening of your touch is met with a soft mmm from his chest, as his heavy frame pins you tighter to the ground. 

His lips stray from your lips, kissing over the razor edge of your jaw, finding their way to the nape of your neck. His hot breath and the weight of his strong and capable body make you feel weightless, despite the pressure he pushes on you. 

He presses tender kisses to your pulse and trails them down to the hollow of your throat, causing your breathing to hitch in your throat. His wide tongue licks a long, flat stripe up your windpipe, and his teeth come together in a little nip on your chin. Fuck. You let out a little cry of unexpected pleasure at the sensation. He pins both of your arms high up above your head, and his mouth continues its relentless pursuit on the bare skin of your neck and exposed collarbones. 

“Joel, please,” you beg, your vision foggy from the thrum of your blood pulsing through your veins at a rapid pace; your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. 

“Gotta use your words for me, pretty girl, tell me what you want,” he responds, a low growl to his words. 

He’s barely managed to touch you, yet, you choke out, “Need you,” you moan, “need you to touch me more, god, please,” you beg, your arms still pinned above your head. Satisfied, he releases his grip on your arms, and both of his palms find purchase on your center frame, just below your ribs. He kisses his way down from your throat, through the valley of your breasts, and over your belly, trailing the ghost of his lips to the soft plush below your navel.

He hooks his thumbs under the band of your pants, and deftly pulls them off, alongside your underwear. He continues kissing down the gash between your thighs and pauses once his mouth is centered on your glistening slit. His tongue darts out to lap at some of your slick and you swear all of your senses cross at the sensation of his tongue. 

Fuck –,” you cry out as he licks a firm stripe up your pussy. Joel moans before making his tongue flat and massaging your clit with it. It’s so fucking good. 

He sinks a thick middle finger into you, and your walls clamp around the welcomed intrusion. His finger grazes against the soft spongy spot inside you that feels so good, and he works it in and out of you before adding another finger, twisting and working them both into you with precision. You’re so close. You choke out a moan in response, enjoying the sensation of his long and thick fingers rubbing against your walls as his tongue makes tight circles around your sensitive clit.

You pull at your nipple through your shirt with one hand and hold on to the top of his head, his hair entangled between your fingers as you attempt to hold on to him, an anchor to keep you from floating away, and he devours you.

His fingers thrust faster, his mouth firm on your throbbing bud, and you’re so close. You wail out, and the slurping groans that come from Joel are fucking primal and filthy.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he says, his words barely audible with his mouth on your puffy lips, “want you to come,” he moans. “Come on pretty girl, I’ve got you – let me have it, soak my face.”

His dirty talk is all you need. "Yes, oh my God – Yes! Joel, fuck, I'm coming, don’t stop," you cry, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, your chest hot. Your vision goes white as you release yourself to him. Your back arches and your legs flex; your stomach feels like it’s being sucked into itself, and Joel works you through it, lapping up your come.

He rises from between your legs, his beard slick with your release, and smiles at you. As satisfied as you are at the moment, he’s the one that looks it. As much as he would love to make you come multiple times under his tongue for hours, to savor your sweetness like it was the last strawberry on earth, he’s starving for it. 

He makes quick work of undoing his belt and jeans, before sliding them off his legs to free himself. Gripping his heavy cock in his hand, he positions himself at your entrance and pushes just the tip in, wishing he were less riled up, less desperate for the warmth of your body, but he finds comfort in knowing you’re right at that line with him, begging to be filled. 

“Need you,” you beg, your doe eyes looking up at him. He’s had many people beg for things from him – supplies, food, their life, but you, god, there’s something about you, split open and begging for his cock that he can’t say no to. 

He smiles, and slides all the way in, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. He buries his cock deep inside you, to the hilt, so deep you can feel the tickle of the dark hairs that outline the base of it against your clit. Your pussy is so wet and tight, and holy – “fuck me, baby,” he moans, thrusting his hips out of you just barely before shoving them forward; the stretch of him is a delicious slow burn. 

“Choking my cock so fucking good, baby. So good,” he moans before he begins to set a slow rhythm with his movements, letting you both adjust to the sensation. He praises your name and his breath catches on your collarbone, and he sucks a small mark there as he fucks in and out of you. When you whine for more, more of this, and more of him, this time he’s the one who’s lost for words. He might not know what to say, but his body responds in kindness, his cock thrusting in and out of you with a slow drag that drives you wild. All he can do is admire the beauty that you are under him, an angel on earth making a sweet, sweet mess, all for him. Just for him. 

“Mmm, God, Joel – ‘m gonna, fuck, Joel, – right there –” you cry up to the sky above you, the clouds in the sky witness to your pleasure. He knows his cock is enough to get you there, but it’s not enough, not to him. Putting all of his body weight into his left arm, being sure not to crush you, he drags his right hand out from under his weight and it lands to cup your pussy; already so wet and so full. His fingers extend and find a home on your clit, and he begins rubbing tight circles on your aching bud in a way that makes you swear it must be nighttime from the stars you’re seeing. 

“Here, baby?” his fingers continue their relentless pursuit of your clit, and he bucks his hips harder. He’s rewarded with the glorious sound of your moans reaching an octave that makes his cock twitch a little harder inside of you, “Jesus, sweetheart – gonna make me come like a teenager if you keep clenching like that, gripping me so fuckin’ tight,” he groans, an animalistic sound emanating from his chest. 

“Joel, I’m gonna come –”  

“I can tell, baby – clenchin’ so hard around me, want you to give me your all,” he demands, as he grabs your hair and tells himself not to come with you, too soon.

“No,” you choke out, staving off your orgasm. He stops his thrusts for a brief second, “What?” he asks, a bit bewildered. At this point you’re both a tangled mess of limbs, sweat beading on your foreheads, chests heaving. You intertwine your hands through his hair and gently pull at it as you look him deep in the eyes, “I want to come,” you promise, “I just want to ride you while I do it,” you admit. 

You pulse around his cock at the confession, and with your truth still lingering on your lips, Joel pulls out and flips around so he's on his back. He steadies himself by the base and holds his cock straight up for you. You rise and position yourself over his center; you line yourself up against him while he cups your cheek with the other hand, “take your seat, pretty girl,” he says in a tone that’s just shy of a beg, and you do, feeling yourself slowly sink onto every inch of him. Your action elicits a throaty groan from him. Your eyes once again glaze over at the sensation of him so deep inside of you, so big, so deep. The stretch of him shoves out every other thought you can muster until all that’s left are thoughts of him in your brain.

In an attempt to get a better angle, he shifts his upper body up onto his forearms, as you continue to grind your hips into him. Both of your arms wrap around his neck, and you use the strength of them to pull him closer into your chest as you continue to slowly grind your cunt into him. You swear you can feel him in your lungs, and with the way your clit grinds against his skin, you’re nearly there, nearly gone.

A weird combination of emotions pools in your belly, part pleasure, part something else. You feel it creeping up your throat, clawing up the back of it like it’s manifesting its reality before it manages to surface. Heat pricks in your tear ducts, and before you know it, it’s such a big, bold feeling – a lion in a cage that won’t be tamed. Simultaneously, you feel a familiar tug at your navel, like a rubber band, stretched to its capacity, on the verge of a snap. 

The orgasm that tears through you is so epic it causes your head to fall back, and your eyes to roll to the back of your head, your vision going static white. Your lower body shudders against his thrusts, and your inner muscles clamp hard around his cock as he fucks you through it. You convulse around him, doing your best to ride his thrusts and contribute as your whole body trembles. With tears streaming down your face, you press your lips against him. He wraps both of his arms tight around your chest, pinning you close to his heart, meanwhile spearing you with his cock. His thrusts stop for a moment, and he looks up at you, both hands coming to grip the sides of your face. 

“Why are you crying baby,” he asks with genuine concern in his voice. 

“You’re just – so god damn beautiful, Joel,” you admit, and your sobs come a little harder. If this were pre-apocalypse, you might be mortified by the fact that you were sobbing for a man you hardly know, all while riding his cock, but it’s not. You rest your forehead against his and let the tears continue to fall, a handful of them dropping to his cheeks. Your hand comes up to cup his face, and one of his hands leaves your face, trailing down to gently grab at your wrist in comfort. “No, baby. That’s you,” he says, slowly continuing to fuck into you with a slow grind. 

“My perfect girl, I’ve got you, baby, you’re safe. I’ve got you,” he says, as he holds you and fucks you with such passion and intentionality. He fucks all of the love you haven’t let yourself feel in decades back into you. His cock fills every gap that has been left unfilled by every wrongdoing, every terrible, bad thing. He holds you like it isn’t the end of the world, but rather the beginning. He fucks you like his cock alone could fix everything, and at this moment, you’re confident it just might. 

Still riding him, a soft “please,” leaves your lips. “Please use me,” you say, sinking your pussy down further onto him, so tight you can feel the tip of him pushing down on your cervix. “Want your come, Joel – need it, need it so much,” you beg, and oh god, he’s so fucked. 

Joel was already on the crest of his release a long time ago, but here you are – utterly fucked out, riding him, and begging for his come. He’s a smart man, he knows he shouldn’t, but – you tug at his hair harder, and ride him for all you’re worth. “Fuck me, baby,” he moans, alongside a long slew of your name and other profanities, he only has so much resolve left, a resolve that’s slowly crumbling with each drag of your wet cunt up and down his cock. 

You press your lips to his once again and he feels his balls tighten. The litany of pleas and the taste of your salty tears is what undoes him. Buried deep inside of you, he comes harder than he has in decades, spilling hot and deep inside of you. He fills you up with all he’s worth, painting your insides with white hot ropes of his seed. Normally you’re the artist, but right now, you’re his canvas, his fucking Mona Lisa. 

Joel grunts and you collectively still your movements. He holds you close as he waits for the aftershocks and twitches to still, still plugging you, keeping all of his spend deep inside of you. He plants soft kisses all over your face and neck and caresses your hair. You stay like this for what could be hours, minutes, days. Time is a construct you have no concept of right now. 

After a few minutes, he groans. Pulling out is always the hardest thing to do. “Gonna get off you now,” you say softly, planting a soft kiss on his lips, as you lift your hips and swing your leg over his body. Your pussy whines at the lack of something to grip around. A rush of his come dribbles out of you onto your inner thigh, but you don’t pay any attention to it. You roll over onto your back, and he does the same. As you both lay there, he grabs your hand and squeezes it tight. You’re not sure what time it is now, but by the color of the sky, you guess it’s late afternoon at this point.

“We should get back,” you say, staring up at the sky, watching the clouds make their creations. 

“Yeah,” he admits, only looking at you. When you avert your gaze from the sky to look at him, you get deja vu as you take in the sight of Joel Miller, his tossed curls and chocolate eyes, and you swear you’ve seen this sight before. Maybe in a dream. 

You commit the sight to memory, promising yourself to draw it later. 

“Will you sit for a portrait with me?” you ask, voice soft, once again turning to face him, but this time it’s different.

“Only if you promise to go for a ride with me again,” he admits, and you smile, a heat creeping up to your cheeks. 

“Deal,” you promise. 

You both lay there for what could be hours or minutes, you’re not sure. But as the sun looks like it’s about to dip below the horizon, you both decide it’s time to head back. You both get dressed, and he helps you onto the horse. You both leave your perfect little meadow, knowing that it will be there for you to discover again and again. 

On the ride back, you reflect on a poem you remember reading years ago.

There are two kinds of people in this world, those who see the ending, and those who see the beginning. 

And after years of living in the ending, you’re ready to let the girl who you were before out of her prison. Joel undid the lock, all you had to do was let her see the light of day once more. 

A new beginning. 

You and Joel ride back in blissful silence. 

Once on the outskirts of Jackson, Joel simply says, “Maybe we should invite Tommy next time.” 

But that’s a different notebook. 

END 

Tags: @endlessthxxghts @sydneyinacoma @theoasisofthings @pedrostories @meabhogr @bastardmandennis @untamedheart81 @lavema @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @dugiioh @nervoushottee @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings @josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @peachmy @survivingandenduring @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @brittmb115 @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @morallyinept @tobesolovelysstuff @notsosecretspy @alokaerza @ro-nahime-things @gwendibleywrites @morgaussy @missladym1981

As always, feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list, or removed (even if we're moots, no hard feelings). I'll still be using my tag list for now, but I just started a notifs blog, so will be transitioning to that eventually. Please follow @katiexpunkupdates to get notified when I post fics.xx

#joel miller smut #joel miler x fem!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller tlou #the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #katiexpunk answers #pedrohub #pedro pascal #pedrostories

[blackopals-world]

What Nurseries would the fem!AU(Yuus) build

(Look I have baby fever and I'm tired of fighting it)

Vet!FemYuu

Stuffed animals everywhere

Doesn't care if it's a boy or girl they aren't changing it.

Every book will be animal fables

Is praying for the baby to be a beastman but just wants a healthy baby.

Got a bunch of teething toys just in case the kid has their milk teeth come early.

Rainforest noise machine

Once the baby is a few months they are going everywhere in a sling.

The baby will meet all of Yuu's patients and will be constantly covered in fur and feathers.

If the baby becomes interested in fish like their aunt Yuu will cry. She won't let her win!

Marine Biologist!FemYuu

A bit chaotic in decoration

Let's Azul decorate it the first time and cried because it was beige like those weird rich people who only care about aesthetic but have no real sense of style. Like, no color? Babies need color!

Yuu cries while explaining (it's the hormones)

She hates beige

Azul wouldn't argue with a pregnant woman

She wants sushi but doesn't know if she can have it if the baby is half mer.

They installed a tank in the room just encase the baby is a mer

The tweels are banned from holding the baby until the kid can sit up on their own.

Took the baby to swim classes to awaken their natural instincts to swim like all babies even especially fishy babies.

Chef!femYuu

Red and gold for good luck and prosperity.

Pandas for peace and protection.

She wanted everything to be traditional but knows how demanding it will be.

No hot foods, no crab, no lamb, mutton, no sushi, no soft cheese, no soft serve ice cream.

She's dying.

After the baby is born a feast of pig trotters, eggs, cakes, chicken and gelatinous rice is served. She will dye the eggs red.

The baby will get an anti-usog bracelet at birth

She is superstitious so no one will see the baby's clothes before birth.

Noble!FemYuu

Too much? Yeah.

Unfortunately, she insisted due to family tradition. Every child must use this crib first.

The baby has a different crib in every room so it doesn't matter.

Everyone needs to know how precious this baby is. The need to see this crib from space.

More silk! More pillows! More toys! More!More! More!

This baby will have like five names.

This baby will be lorded over the masses as the perfect example of a baby.

Portraits will be painted of this baby that will one day be hung in great halls and later art galleries.

Yuu is way too excited and honestly, even the baby is fed up.

She trying her best.

Special Forces!femYuu

We all know who the father is.

Yep, Rook designed this room

Doesn't matter if it's a boy or girl either.

Yuu was way too tired to stop him and she didn't even try to stop him.

Rook really wants a girl and will try again if it doesn't happen. (he was going to try again anyways)

You'd think he was giving birth with the effort he put in.

Yuu would make him do it if she could. But alas.

The couple was using their pet bunnies as pseudo babies while prepping for the pregnancy. They bunnies weren't happy except for one.

Pistolet the weirdo. Rook's favorite and the dumb one. He was also the future baby's best friend.

Yuu is an iron woman honestly, she shows no pregnancy symptoms while Rook has sympathy pregnancy symptoms.

They eat shaved ice and watch war movies together. Couple goals.

Gardener!FemYuu

A little English cottage nursery

Very whimsical

The baby isn't actually going to use a crib until they are whined because Yuu insisted on co-sleeping despite what the doctor said.(don't do this)

Yuu wanted to deliver the same way as her mother and her mother's mother. In field, by themselves, while harvesting the crops. Have that sucker out in an hour, swaddle it, and back to work.

That didn't happen. They went to a hospital and iron woman over here was put on extended bed rest after giving birth to a big ass baby. Beautiful too.

(???)!Fem?Yuu

They can have kids??

By who?

How?

I mean it's nice but I'm still confused?

Good for them?

You sure that baby isn't a cryptid? That thing has a lot of hair. Looks like that girl from "The Ring". That's alot of hair.

Well, good luck with your hairy baby.

#vet!yuu #marine biologist!yuu #chef!yuu #special forces!yuu #noble!yuu #(???)!yuu #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland yuu #rook hunt x reader #twisted wonderland rook #rook hunt #twst rook #twisted wonderland azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #twisted wonderland azul #azul ashengrotto #tweels #jade leech #floyd leech #twisted wonderland leona #twst leona #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #gardener!yuu

[unhelpfulfemme]

Thalias from the Thrawn Ascendancy trilogy is how you do a female character with "traditionally feminine" virtues correctly.

The culture of the Ascendancy involves using young girls - the only Force sensitives their race has, since they all lose their Force sensitivity when they enter puberty - as ship navigators necessary to navigating the chaotic part of space that they live in. These girls are taken from their families at a young age and raised by a series of caregivers, and just like a bunch of plenty of carers IRL a lot of them are dogshit at their job. As someone who's worked similar jobs and watched other people work similar jobs, Timothy Zahn is BRILLIANT at portraying all of this - it gives me feelings like I can't describe. If you've ever seen a mean preschool teacher harranguing their charges or a shitty foster parent who doesn't treat their foster kids as individuals or anyone of the sort, you will feel this in your bones. Zahn goes hard on the "children are people" themes in this trilogy and I love love love this - it really means a lot to me to see a man known for his military and engineering competence porn stuff put so much thought and care into portraying caregiving as the important and complicated task that it is without coming off as sexist or patronizing towards it.

Anyway, Thalias is one such navigator, but even though most of them want nothing to do with the whole trauma-inducing system once they grow out of it, Thalias ends up returning as a caregiver and puts so much effort, compassion and logical thought into it that it makes me cry tears of joy. She draws on her own experiences but is quick to course correct when she realizes that Che'ri's experiences are different from her own (Thalias loved to read as a kid and still finds it comforting, Che'ri hates reading), she treats Che'ri with empathy and gives her as much autonomy and independence as she is allowed to. She uses a scientific method to figure out how the navigator powers work and adjust Che'ri's work routine accordingly - something no one has ever thought to do. She advocates for Che'ri with the rest of the ship's crew. She's amazing, and Zahn also makes sure to show how HARD it can be at times rather than just make her a perfect mind reader who always knows what her charge is thinking and what to say or do.

She's also kinda flawed - she seems to have an unhealthy obsession with Thrawn because he was once nice to her when she was a miserable kid in the throes of the shitty navigator system, and it comes off as kind of weird or cringe at times, and that's a GOOD thing in my book because it makes her character more 3D.

ALSO, the really nice part of it is that these books are filled to the brim with cool female characters that all feel really really different from each other, so Thalias being the nurturing, diplomatic type doesn't feel like Zahn sending some kind of message - the other prominent character is Ar'alani, a clever military woman who's a natural leader, excellent at handling her subordinates and recognizing their talents, excellent at handling politics even though she hates it, excellent at improvising on the fly, and also a kind and loyal friend. A lot of the other soldier or officer types are also women, and Zahn's other works also have a shitton of varied and cool women, so you feel safe in the knowledge that anything Thalias says or does is indicative of Thalias as an individual and not some vague idea of what women are like that the author has.

I also love how her character provides a contrast to all the "necessary evil" and "people are assets"-type thinking that a lot of the Ascendancy's more military types endorse (which make up a large percentage of the main cast, since this is mil scifi after all) - her conversation with Samakro about this is just chef's kiss to me. I feel like it's cool that we get this kind of POV because to me it serves as confirmation that Zahn knows what he's doing here - he's not being a stupid edgelord fanboy in love with the concept of doing shitty things for the greater good, he's just keenly observing how different people approach life and how all of these sorts of thinking are very useful in certain situations and deeply stupid in others. And the topic is treated with zero smugness - I've read things where similar arguments are used as a way of showing how wise and perfect one of the characters is and how stupid the other one is (coughvorkosigansagacough), but here everyone is treated with respect and empathy and consideration.

THALIAS SUPREMACY!!!

#Mitth'ali'astov #Thalias #Thrawn Ascendancy #Timothy Zahn #THALIAS SUPREMACY

[full-on-sam]

I have been off tumblr for a while but popping back in for a second because I have angry Toughts about Books, especially booktok.

I am so tired. When I was a child and a teenager i used to read everyday multiple times a day, i found joy and escapism in literature. Now teens have... this? Really? It makes me fucking sad. I am sure there are also many new good books out there for teens and young adults, but chance is that the people they are aimed to haven't even seen them or don't know they exist. You go into a library or a bookstore and the first thing you see is a booktok shelf. You may not even go into a library anymore because what is glamorized today is how many books you buy each month or each week. This are the books that are marketed, that are talked about. If I wanted to read some YA that is different i have to just reread old books which sure, it can be great but why can I not have any other option?

My sister has recently entered the -teens years. She doesn't read much but honestly? I cannot even fault her. If she was interested to the romance genre what should I tell her to read? This shit? Teach her abuse from an extremely young age because she is guilty of wanting to read? Honestly I feel like there aren't even books for teenagers that are actually for them. All of this YA genre is not for young adults it's for adults. Full stop.

(This also warrants a digression on how wide the ya age ange is. Google says 12 to 30, like excuse me? But my point still stands).

That's it. I hate the new book trends. I hate how to market something you have to boil it to insipid tropes, to a 20 seconds video where you slap a bunch of Pinterest images and some buzzwords. Where all the books are badly done version of themselves. As an author it makes me cry. They have so much potential and it is all wasted like this.

And that is also to say that if you do not agree with any of this, think booktok books are cool, you like authors such as SJM or Colleen Hoovers... get off my blog. Unsubscribe. This is not a space i want people like that in, thank you.

#anti booktok #booktok #trends #what are we even supposed to read

[hederasgarden]

Flirting For Dummies - Part 1

Summary: Turns out the crush you have on one of the pilots that frequents the Hard Deck isn’t quite so unrequited. You’re just bad at recognizing when someone’s flirting with you. Good thing Jake’s happy to help you understand how interested he really is. 

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x F!Reader

Rating: General. The second part will include explicit sexual content and be 18+ only. This part features Hangman being a cocky little shit, a shy reader (inspired by @thewhiskersonkittens​​​ post asking for Jake with a shy reader), a misunderstanding and some kissing. 

Word Count: 2.1K

A/N: This is my first of hopefully many Top Gun fics. Please let me know if you enjoy this. Reblogs and comments feed the muse. 

The pencil is clutched firmly between your teeth as you highlight another important passage in your book. It’s still early enough that the background sound from the bar is at a steady hum instead of the loud, chaotic energy you know it’ll morph into soon. The golden hours between lunch and the evening rush are the best time to study at the Hard Deck, it’s less stuffy than the library or the studio apartment you rent, plus you get free fries here. That’s hard to beat.

“Almost done?” One of the other bartenders, Becky, asks as she passes by you on her way to the kitchen. 

“Almost,” you respond. Technically there are two more chapters you need to read but with only 15 minutes until your shift starts there’s no chance you can make that happen. You don’t really care anyway, you’re tired of studying. What you need is a break, something more than sitting alone on your couch watching true crime documentaries with a pint of ice cream. 

With a defeated sigh you close your book and lean back to stretch, letting out a startled little gasp when you realize the seat beside you is no longer empty, but taken up by the handsome pilot who you’ve spent entirely too much time thinking about. He’s become a regular at the bar over the last few months, coming in like clockwork on Thursdays and Fridays. Sometimes he’s alone, just ordering dinner and a drink though mostly he comes in with a group of other people wearing the same service khakis to play pool.

You don't know his actual name, just his call sign - Hangman. He's friendly, tipping generously and has a habit of winking at you when you dropped off his drinks. That made you incredibly nervous even if you did like it. You know it doesn’t mean anything… He’s charming to all the bartenders, even succeeding in making the unflappable Becky blush once.

Penny warned you the pilots were the worst of the bunch but the others didn’t make you nearly as nervous as Hangman did. You liked watching him from afar, aware of how his type operated. They didn’t go for girls like you. You weren’t pretty like Becky or funny like Janet, the other bartender you often worked with. 

Having his full attention focused on you throws you for a loop. “What?” You stammer, completely missing whatever he just said. 

“I asked what you are reading about?” Hangman repeats, leaning into your space to see the title of your textbook. 

He’s so close that you can smell his cologne, a potent mix of sandalwood and a sweet citrusy undercurrent. When your mouth opens to respond all that escapes is a uhhhh sound. He smirks, pressing into your space and laying his arm along the back of the bar stool. You meet his beautiful green eyes for just a second before you clear your throat and look away. 

“Coastal Ecology,” you finally manage to force out. 

“You’ll have to speak up sweetheart,” Hangman says, tapping on the wooden bar. “It’s loud in here.” 

It’s actually not but he still leans in and warmth sweeps up your chest into your throat. You hate the way the stupid pet name makes your stomach swoop. Normally you despise all the honey, baby, or darlins you get from the men at the bar, but there is something in the way he says it that’s different. You want him to call you that and mean it, even though you know he never would. 

“I’m studying coastal ecology,” you repeat, turning to look at him fully, buoyed by a brief swell of confidence.

“Smart girl, huh?” He asks, grinning. You sit up straighter at his praise. “Why are you doing it at a bar? Hoping for some attention?” 

His words curdle that pleasantly warm feeling in your chest. ​​

“I work here,” you defend, sliding off the bar stool to put distance between the two of you. “I’m in grad school and the owner lets me study before my shift.” 

The urge to continue and over-explain is hard to resist. You owe him nothing so cut yourself off and focus on putting your things away, but when you reach for your book he rests his hand on it to stop you from taking it. You stare at the large ring he wears on one finger, not wanting to meet his gaze. After a moment he sighs and draws his hand back. You spot an annoyed, almost confused look on his face, which quickly dissipates replaced by a bland smile. 

“Ok then. Guess we’ll take a round of beers. Over at the pool tables,” he says, stepping back.

It’s not your shift for another 10 minutes so you pass on the order to Becky and go hide in the back office until you need to clock in. Despite your best efforts you somehow find yourself looking over to the pool table and meeting the blonde man’s eyes. He doesn’t smirk like you expect. There’s a little furrow between his brows instead. 

"He's hot," Becky says, coming to lean against the bar next to you while you slice up a lime. “Probably a jackass but he’d show you a good time.”

"What?" You ask, embarrassed to be caught looking.

"Mr. Tall Blonde and Built," she indicates, pointing to Hangman. "All pilots are cocky, especially that bunch.”

"Bob is sweet," you defend, thinking of the timid but endearing pilot who always stammers his way through talking to Janet and you. 

"Bob is an outlier and if he wasn't so into Janet I'd love to take him home and sit on that pretty face. He looks like he’d be so eager. Like one of those golden retriever types.” She sighs wistfully. 

"Oh my god, Becky," you chastise, looking over at Bob, half embarrassed on his behalf. He’s staring dreamily at Janet as she cleans off a high top. He really was adorable. 

“Just be careful,” Becky says seriously.

“I don’t think I’m on anyone’s radar here,” you tell her with a sad little laugh.

“Thought you were supposed to be smart, kiddo,” she says, bumping your shoulder and grinning. “Ohhh, I spot a cell phone on the bar. Gotta ring that bell,” she tells you, taking off towards a poor unsuspecting businessman.

✥

Friday is even crazier than Thursday, the bar is packed to the gills. Although you won’t admit it, you catch yourself searching through the crowd for a familiar face. For Hangman. There’s a bunch of military types hanging around the pool table but he’s not with them. It’s stupid to feel disappointed, it’s not like he even knows you exist, not really. It’s best your crush becomes nothing more than a way to occupy your mind with what-ifs and silly scenarios. He’s probably off with that beautiful brunette girl you saw hanging off his arm yesterday. 

“It’s almost 7,” Penny says, interrupting your thoughts. “Go ahead and clock out before things get too crazy.”

“I don’t mind staying to help,” you offer. 

She waves you off. “You closed last night and should have left two hours ago. You’re good. Go.”

“Alright,” you agree, untying your apron, and retrieving your purse from the back room. Trying to leave the bar is like swimming upstream, you’re fighting past throngs of people who are drunk or on their way to be. By the time you break free the cool air coming off the ocean feels wonderful. You close your eyes and take in a clarifying breath, enjoying the peaceful moment. Maybe you’ll sit out on your balcony and read tonight. 

“Got off late today, huh?”

You jump, clutching your purse to your chest at the sound of the familiar voice. Speak of the Devil. Hangman pushes off from the wall he’s leaning against, running a hand through his perfectly styled honey blonde hair as he approaches you. The tousled effect makes him look even more handsome. He’s out of his Navy uniform, wearing jeans and a light gray sweater that clings to the curve of his biceps.

“Becky said you got off at 5 pm today.” He taps the watch on his wrist. 

Was he talking to you? You glance behind you but no one is there. 

“One of the bartenders showed up late and I didn’t want them to be short-staffed.” You respond, trying to process why he’s talking to you. Was he waiting for you? “Penny was worried and I oh…” you trail off when your back connects with the brick wall.

Hangman grins, head cocked to the side while he continues to stalk towards you. You lick your lips nervously and look past him. Was this some kind of joke? There are a handful of people milling about, sharing a smoke or escaping the crowd, but they’re all caught up in their conversations. No one is looking at either of you. 

“Gotta tell you, honey, it’s a real blow to the ego when a girl doesn’t flirt back with a guy like me.”

“What?” You ask sharply, looking back at him confused. “You were flirting with me? When?”

“Ouch,” he says, clutching his chest in mock pain. “You know how to wound a man, sweetheart. I was trying to be charming but I see I’m gonna need the direct approach here. I want to take you out. Tomorrow night. 7 pm.” He pauses, waiting for you to respond but you just stare dumbly at him, mind blank and body buzzing with nerves. “This is the part where you say yes,” he prods, stepping even closer.

You stare into his green eyes. “I don’t even know your real name,” you finally blurt out.

He chuckles. “It’s Jake.”

He’s in your space now, palm resting beside your head. Close enough to kiss, your mind supplies. The thought makes goosebumps break out over your skin and you let out a shuddery breath. 

“No hard feelings if I’m not wanted but I have it on good authority I am,” he whispers. “I need you to say it so there’s no misunderstandings.”

“Yes.” You offer him a soft smile, feeling shy and giddy.

“Yes what?” He prods. 

“Yes, I want to go out on a date with you.” 

“That’s good,” he hums, inching forward until his lips are a hair's breadth away from yours. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, waiting. He smiles. “I can’t do all the work here, sweetheart. Help me out.”

Emboldened by his words and the way he looks at you, you find the courage to tilt your head up and meet his lips. He takes control of the kiss immediately, one hand sliding along the curve of your hip. The other cups the side of your face. You moan, curling your fingers into the soft fabric of his sweater. For a moment you forget where you are, letting Jake’s weight pin you to the wall as his kiss intensifies. 

He parts your mouth with his, the sensation of his tongue against yours making you quake and him groan. A sharp whistle snaps you back into reality and you draw away, shaking and overwhelmed. Jake’s a little breathless too but he recovers pretty soon, looking over his shoulder at two younger men. Both are in uniform and they pale under the dark look he sends them, scurrying back inside. You shrink down, hands coming to cover your face. Your skin tingles, warming with embarrassment and the aftermath of the kiss.

“None of that,” Jake says, pulling your hands down. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, making a pleased sound. “No hiding that beautiful face from me. You’re cute when flustered.”

You look away, his attention is too much. 

“It’s ok.” He rises to his full height, shielding you from anyone looking. The hand at your waist disappears, but he rubs the apple of your cheek gently with his thumb until you find the courage to look back at him. “That was nice wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” you agree.

“Come on, let me walk you to your car.”

You follow his lead into the parking lot. When you stop at your beat up old Honda he grasps your wrist and pulls you back to face him. He brushes another kiss over your lips. Your whole body tingles in response.

"Tomorrow night. 7," he reminds you, tapping your nose lightly before stepping back. 

He’s a few feet away when you realize he hasn’t said where you’re supposed to be. “Wait!” You call out. 

“Miss me already?” He questions, amused. 

“No, that’s not what I meant,” you stammer, embarrassed. “Where are we meeting?” 

“I know, you’re fun to tease. Check your phone,” he suggests, waiting as you rummage through your purse. There’s a single text for an unsaved number with the location for an upscale gastropub. 

“How…”

“Janet sold you out. I got your number and she got Bob’s. Seemed like a fair deal,” he says with a wink. “See you real soon, sweetheart.”

✥

Part 2 is here.

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x female reader #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fic #jake seresin x female reader #top gun fic #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #jake hangman seresin

[lilareviewsbooks]

Queer Normal-World in SFF Books

Here are five books where being queer is the norm, aka there is no homophobia or transphobia at all! Not all these books are fluffy though -- most of them have heavy conflicts and a bunch of shit going down, but at least no one has a problem with anyone being gay!

These are my favorite kind of books and I have so, so many recommendations, so let me know if you ever want more of these :) And I can also absolutely do only fluffy queer books, too!

The Genesis of Misery, by Neon Yang

Mx. Yang's books are perfect for this type of prompt. The Genesis of Misery is their most recent, and the premise is absolutely killer. It follows Misery Nomaki (she/they), who is haunted by an apparition of an angel. While she is convinced she is mentally ill like her mother, and that her visions are a symptom, people around her seem more and more certain that she is actually some sort of messiah. 

I have my issues with The Genesis of Misery, but it’s a very creative sci-fi that’s worth the read. It includes mecha, interesting depictions of religion, which permeates the entire story, and, of course, excellent queer rep. We have characters who use neo-pronouns, a polyamory situationship and most characters are queer. Not to mention, it’s written by a queer and non-binary author, which is always a plus. It’s part of an on-going series, though, so be prepared to wait a little while for the sequel! 

Plus, The Locked Tomb fans might be interested to know that there’s a very cavalier-necromancer dynamic in this, and that Rebecca Roanhorse (who wrote Black Sun) described it as Joan of Arc meets Gideon The Ninth. 

Yep. You wanna read it, don’t you?

(Also, if for some reason you’re like: “gee, I really wish there was a black-and-white silent movie with a killer score that touched on these same themes”, then you should probably watch The Passion of Joan of Arc (Carl Theodor Dreyer, 1928). It’s not explicitly gay, but it is queer in my heart. And it rocks.)

The Locked Tomb Series, starting with Gideon The Ninth, by Tasmyn Muir

Since I mentioned it, I guess I might as well include The Locked Tomb in here! This is a Tumblr favorite, and with good reason, because The Locked Tomb fucking rocks. It’s hard to pitch it to someone without ruining the whole point of the series, but the first book follows a necromancer, Harrowhark and her sworn swords-woman, her cavalier, the butch-as-hell Gideon, as they’re summoned to the First House to compete to become Lyctors, the companions of God. 

Yeah, I know that’s a lot, and, to be honest, it’s probably not gonna make much sense to you at many points throughout the story, but that’s the point of The Locked Tomb - everything is confusing, and it’s about sapphics in space! 

The thing about this series is they’re the most unique books you’ll ever read. Every volume has a different approach to telling its story. There’s so many mysteries and it’s almost impossible to understand all the intricacies without sitting down and doing some work. The magic system is also the wonkiest, coolest thing - it involves eating people, sometimes, y’know. And, I promise, you’ll love every single second of it. Especially because there’s absolutely no homophobia or transphobia in any of it, and almost every character is queer as fuck - especially after the second book, when gender starts getting a little funky!

Winter’s Orbit, by Everina Maxwell

I love this book so much, and so know that it comes highly, highly recommended! I have a whole five star review on it you can check out here. (Do check trigger warnings, though! You should always, but especially for this one. I didn’t and they really got me!). 

Winter’s Orbit features my absolutely favorite trope - queer arranged marriage. (Nothing better - those three words and you know it’s gonna be a queer normal world, have some politics and probably be really fucking sweet.) This one is probably one of only ones out of this list where the romance is very predominant and serves as an important B plot. It’s also a standalone, but has a companion book in the same universe, called Ocean’s Echo, which rocks, too!

This one follows Jainan, a recent widower who is rushed into an arranged marriage with Prince Kiem in order to keep the alliance between their homelands intact. Together, they must navigate court intrigue I’m trying my best not to spoil and investigate Jainan’s ex-husband’s death, which might not have been an accident, after all...

In this sci-fi fantasy world, being queer is completely normal, and their system when it comes to gender is absolutely fascinating. People will wear little gender signifiers, like a wodden token for female, for instance, so that others know how to refer to them. It’s super cool to see these kind of things incorporated into the world-building, and it’s something you really only get when queer authors are behind the helm.

(Also, this was originally written online, and it was actually picked up and traditionally published! Which is so cool! Queer fics becoming traditionally published books is so rare, it’s so nice to see it actually happen!)

The Teixcalaan Series, starting with A Memory Called Empire, by Arkady Martine

This is another one of my favorites! I read it last year and it blew me away - so much so that I’ve been itching to re-read it ever since I finished the second book.

The Teixcalaan Series is a political sci-fi duology focusing on the themes of language, empire and cultural domination through imperialism. It’s amazing, and I wrote about it in a full-length review, here, if you wanna take a look! 

It follows Mahit Dzamare, from the tiny Lsel Station, who becomes the ambassador to the huge Teixcalaan Empire, whose culture she’s been in love with for ages. The problem? Something happened to the Lsel ambassador, and the Empire’s control over the Station has been growing ever bigger. To make matters worse, Mahit’s imago machine - the cerebral implant full of her predecessors memories and experiences - doesn’t seem to be working properly, leaving her with a ghost of her predecessor inside of her head...

With all the problems the Teixcalaan Empire has, it’s not homophobic or transphobic, which is a plus for us gays who want to read in peace. Mahit has a charged relationship with her cultural liason, Three Seagrass (yes, that’s her name; yes, there’s an in-world explanation; no, I won’t tell you what it is, you’ll have to read it and find out), not to mention all the hijinks she finds out her predecessor was up to. And none of it needs to be justified or explained at all - people are just gay, and that’s fine!

On A Sunbeam, by Tillie Walden

This graphic novel has a stunning art style, and, listen closely sapphics, absolutely no men at all. Yep. Literally there’s only women and non-binary people in this comic! 

And guess what? It’s available to read for free, here. Thank you, Ms. Walden!

Here, romance is also an important plot point. On A Sunbeam follows Mia, who starts working for a crew of repair-people who rebuild broken down structures. In another timeline, we flashback to her experiences at her boarding school, and to her relationship with a new student.

What’s most unique about On A Sunbeam - apart from the fact that there are no men at all - is it’s unique version of outer space. It’s almost historical, with huge sprawling marble structures decaying, surronded by trees. The ships are shaped like huge fish. You can feel the whimsy in your bones from the colors and the art style that Ms. Walden uses, here.

This standalone is definitely worth a read. And if you like it, you should definitely check out the rest of Ms. Walden’s work - it’s all as beautiful as this is, if not more. Her The End of Summer was one of my favorite reads, last year.

That’s all I’ve got, guys, but lemme know if you want more of these - I have so many, I can definitely recommend you more! Drop me an ask if you have specifications, too - I’m always happy to do some digging :)

#booklr #book recommendations #book recs #queer books #sapphic books #lgbtq books #book review #queer sff #sff books #the locked tomb #the genesis of misery #neon yang #gideon the ninth #winters orbit #a memory called empire #teixcalaan #on a sunbeam #tillie walden

[moodywyrm]

i just redid my room this week,, and it has me wondering what abby and readers room/apartment would look like !! and if they would have any pets or plants and things of those sorts !!

-🧸

you have just opened the floodgates. I fucking love home decor n decorating shit, I literally went Bonkers when I got to decorate my bedroom in my college apartment.

ok so I drew out a floor plan.

so this is gonna be. a big one. so. jerry spared literally no expense when he got abby her college apartment. sure its one bedroom one bath, but it's got a spacious living room that connects to the kitchen. there's a big ol island in the kitchen where abby got so many stools bc she wanted to fit all of her besties. thinks her washer n dryer are in the worst spot ever, but they're the stacked ones so it isn't as bad as it could be. that lil area next to the patio? her reading spot. she never really knew what to do with the space until she met you, and then it clicked. reading nook. one of your guys' favorite dates was hitting every thrift store you could to find a good coffee table and old armchairs. one green, one pink, one baby blue. she loves them to bits, they're absolutely moving into her next place with her. she literally Made a bookshelf to store all the books you gradually left at her house, and it's become your joint shelf now <3

the sofa is Huge and her dad bought it for her, it's black upholstery. her apartment doesn't have one particular style, just very Abby. I forgot to draw it in but there is absolutely a trophy case in the living room. her medals and old jerseys are on the wall, mixed with your band posters and art prints. her favorite parts are the framed photo graphs of her friends and family, including multiple of you. she specifically picked an apartment with great windows, and this came in so handy when you moved in because the both of you basically have a fucking Jungle of plants. Hanging plants, plant stands, plants on every surface. ur babies. the walls are a kinda neutral white color, nothing super special, but it really doesn't matter when it's covered in so much stuff! plus, you usually have colored lights on (like salt lamps, candles, bluetooth color shifting lightbulbs), that the walls are usually just whatever color you want them to be. the couch is covered in throw blankets, that you brought in. the main living area, bedroom, and closet are all dark oak hardwood-tile, with the softest rugs known to man, especially in the bedroom bc neither of you want to step on ice cold tile in the winter.

the bathroom is a different, simple white tile. the shower has glass sliding doors, that abby absolutely uses to look at u while u shower n vice versa <3 it has a built in tub that u make full use of. the bathroom counter is covered in candles, trinkets, skincare, hygiene products, but all very organized bc it makes abby stress less.

the bedroom. ok. her bed? godly. so fucking comfy. king sized, with the softest sheets ever and the plushest comforter and blankets. satin pillowcases you brought in <3 abby religiously washes her bedding, so it cycles from black to pink to blue every three weeks. the bedroom walls are also covered in art prints and wall hangings, but all of these were picked by the both of you. a lot of it is thrifted or bought from local artists, bc you absolutely drag abby to local craft fairs and the like <3 that chest at the end of the bed holds spare bedding and ,,,, other things ,,,, it is locked. on the wall between the doors to the bathroom and closet is a huge standing mirror, and underneath it is a small table and area for you to do your makeup. gives you top tier fit pics, it is also the mirror abby uses for ,,,, other things. it also! gives u a perfect look at abby while she's working at her desk. above her desk is a huge wall grid/corkboard that she hangs a bunch of shit on. I forgot to draw them in but she also has more bookshelves on the wall across from the bed, specifically four small-medium ones, separated by a dresser that holds a bunch of spare stuff and some of her workout gear that she uses often enough to keep out of the closet.

ok the fun stuff. books fucking Everywhere!!! and cool dishware that you thrifted when you moved in. the kitchen is so well loved and worn in, bc you two love cooking together. the couch is much the same way, well worn n comfortable as all hell, literally one of your favorite spots in the apartment. ur actual favorite spot? the patio. it's beautiful, covered in plants, always burning incense out there, comfortable seating, a beautiful view of the park across the street. u and abby spend your weekend mornings out there, usually bundled up into one big chair while abby dozes and you read, drinking coffee or tea or your preferred morning beverage. the apartment smells so good bc candles and incense and abby's rigorous cleaning. her apartment feels like home for the both of you, carefully curated to be a little sanctuary after long days of classes and practices and just general stress.

this is my magnum opus. I have a problem. I will probably speak more on this.

#🧸 anon #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson x reader fluff

[audhd-nightwing]

stranger things autism squad hcs

- the squad consists of jonathan, eddie, robin, steve (and will but i’ll talk abt him with the rest of the party’s hcs)

the rest of them are also neurodivergent, mainly adhd or anxiety and obviously they all have ptsd

- eddie robin and steve also have adhd (and steve has dyslexia)

- steve and jonathan tend to get overstimulated by the same things, same with eddie and robin

- eddie and jonathan have music playing 24/7 so their thoughts don’t get too loud

- steve is hyper-empathetic to the ppl around him and tends to mimic stims and tics from the others

a lot of times robin and steve end up mimicking the same stuff back at each other until one of them gets distracted (which is usually pretty fast)

- jonathan is touch averse, can only handle being touched by family/very close friends

- steve is touch starved and finds physical affection grounding (and eddie and robin are happy to oblige bc they do too)

- steve has a super high pain tolerance

- eddie does not understand the concept of personal space

- steve has excellent hand-eye coordination (basketball!) but that’s about it, he’s almost as clumsy as robin most days

- eddie has lived off of solely spaghettio’s and chicken nuggets for 19 years

- jonathan can’t drink any beverage other than water

- the only food steve knows how to make is his and robins comfort foods (his is mac and cheese, robin’s is pancakes)

- the four of them are completely clueless when people try to subtly hint or imply things to them. they will not get it unless it is explicitly stated

- steve and eddie have a good sense of direction but mess up left and right, jonathan and robin are the opposite, they get lost constantly but make fun of steve and eddie for having to do the L thing (iykyk) to figure out left/right

- eddie ends up chewing on paper a lot and has accidentally swallowed a bunch

- eddie and steve are incapable of doing homework and are terrible test-takers

- steve and robin are perfectionists but in different ways. steve will start organizing peoples rooms subconsciously and has a bunch of random little rules for himself (tie left shoe first, check locks three times, etc.) robin is a perfectionist about her grades/band/how she looks/etc.

- jonathan and steve hate making eye contact, eddie makes too much eye contact and robin doesn’t even look up from her book when people talk to her

- eddie and robin accidentally eavesdrop a lot but end up getting a bunch of town gossip and tell steve about it. they’re all really invested in mr. clarke’s love life

- eddie and jonathan have synesthesia

- jonathan has a lack of facial expressions while eddie and robin over-exaggerate theirs. steve masks the most so he has “normal” facial expressions

- steve has trouble expressing himself a lot of the time, he’ll usually ask robin for certain words to describe things and bc she loves big words and vocabulary she always has one

- robin is a terrible liar and steve finds it hilarious

- they all tend to recharge on their own after a lot of socializing, or they all go to steve’s and just like. exist together

- steve keeps a very strict schedule and gets really anxious/upset when it’s messed up

- robin and eddie tend to overshare

- jonathan and steve talk pretty monotone (jonathan more so) while robin and eddie talk in super energetic or dramatic tones (they’re both former theatre kids i can feel it in my bones)

- steve has auditory processing issues, often asks people to repeat what they said (overtime he also starts to lose his hearing so he ends up learning to read lips)

- when they’re anxious robin and eddie usually go hyperverbal, while steve and jonathan tend to go nonverbal

- steve and eddie have echolalia and both used to get super frustrated with themselves before they met and were like “oh im not the only one thank fuck”

- jonathan and robin have photographic memories, steve and eddie have trouble remembering what they had for breakfast

- robin is pretty blunt but steve appreciates it because she gets straight to the point and calls him out if he does something stupid (aka smth King Steve would do)

- steve’s main mask is, obviously, king steve. his parents didn’t like the way he acted when he was younger, they wanted a “normal” child. so they trained him to be one. he still falls back into old habits some days but robin or eddie snap him out of it and comfort him after

- steve and robin mask the most, but steve does wayyy more than all of them combined. robins parents are autistic so she only really masks around people in public

she does around steve until they get closer and she feels comfortable enough to unmask (though she doesn’t really know why,,) and steve notices and is like “…you can… take it off?” and robin realizes oh he’s like me

- joyce is an amazing mother and jonathan only ever felt the need to mask around lonnie. once he leaves (aka joyce kicks him out with hopper’s help) will and jonathan rarely mask at home unless they’re really anxious or upset

- eddie masked most of his childhood. when he grows up he masks around his dad, but not anyone else. he thought if anyone hated him they could go fuck themselves. wayne is also autistic so they never feel the need to mask around each other. he still doesn’t give a shit what other people think of him (and tries to help the others feel that way too)

their special interests:

- jonathan’s is photography

- eddie’s are dnd and metal music

- robins are cryptography and linguistics

- steve’s are hair care and marvel comics

steve infodumps to dustin and robin about them but doesn’t tell anyone else (besides will) because it’s “nerdy” lmao. and yes when eddie finds out he falls even harder for him

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #jonathan byers #will byers #autistic will byers #autistic robin buckley #autistic steve harrington #autistic eddie munson #autistic jonathan byers #autism swag #steddie #stranger things headcanons #joyce byers #wayne munson #platonic stobin #platonic stonathan #steve and robin #steve and jonathan #steve x eddie

[angelsanarchy]

Glass Houses: Jack Thurlow x Y/N Series CH 12 -> CH 13

"I'm kind of terrified of her getting to know the real me." "Hey, the real you might be a pretentious dick but you're not a bad person."

Tagging: @roryculkinluvr @thatsthewrongwallcraig @icarus-star @cc-luvr @madamemaximoff06 @shady-the-simp @quicksilversg1rl @s-0lar @kristennero-wallacewellsver @ophelialaufey @mayathepsychic1999

Jack kept busy moving his laptop and writing journals into his dad's old art studio. He's decided that he needs a separation of where he works and where he sleeps, a recommendation made by Dr. Carty.

He was actually surprised how much more he got written now that he was in a different space of the house. He felt almost like he was channeling some of his father's creativity as he wrote. He had the curtains pulled open and the window crack slightly allowing the breeze into the room. It gave him a since of freedom he hadn't truly felt since being back in the house.

"Bitchface!? Are you up there?" Jack startled hearing Shanda's voice coming up the steps.

"In here ya stupid slut." Jack called out to her, making sure to save and shut his laptop. She came up the stairs an spotted him immediately as he threw his arms open.

"What do you think? Not too bad right?" Jack looked around the room and Shanda nodded.

"It looks great. You look like shit but the house is really coming along." Shanda hugged Jack and could feel how much thinner he was since they last saw one another.

"What are you living on? Slim jims and coffee?" Shanda ran her fingertips under the dark circles of his eyes.

"I'm working on it. I have an appointment with my doc coming up to talk about a medication change. Too many side effects are making it a pain in the ass just getting up in the morning." Jack explained.

"Can you even do that? I mean will that set you back?" Shanda asked curiously.

"Yeah Y/n explained that sometimes you need to find the right cocktail of medication so you don't live a miserable life with a bunch of fucked up side effects." Jack explained

"Well did you want me to stay and keep an eye out while you go through the change?" Shanda asked making Jack laugh.

"I'm mentally ill Shan, not a werewolf. I'll be fine. Y/n checks in almost daily so if I have any issues, she's right down the street." Shanda's eyebrow went up.

"You made a friend?" Shanda smirked.

"Yes I made a friend. Technically she's a neighbor and owns the dog that looks like Rusty but yes we're pretty friendly." Jack couldn't hide his smile and Shanda laughed out loud.

"You're friendly. Friendly like you have a book club or friendly like you 69 in the kitchen?" Shanda was happy to see Jack making progress but she will always worry about him.

"Jesus Christ. Is that the friendship spectrum with lesbians?" Jack teased.

"Hey I just want to make sure I don't eat off the counter where your ass has been." She held her hands up in defense.

"No we aren't fucking. We just...hang out. She mostly brings me food and let's the dog stay when I'm having a bad night. It's been nice.." Jack trailed off and Shanda could tell something was up.

"But?"

"I'm kind of terrified of her getting to know the real me." Jack tucked his hair behind his ears and Shanda shook her head.

"Hey, the real you might be a pretentious dick but you're not a bad person." Shanda defended.

"Jack be serious. Do you really think you're supposed to be stuck in this house all by yourself, writing some manifesto forever alone?" Shanda asked.

"I'm not writing a manifesto." Jack laughed.

"Jack." Shanda's tone was serious.

"I don't know Shan! I just don't want to hurt anyone like I did Cleo. I mean I was going through something but even you've admitted that it was a bastard move. Y/n has a lot going on in her life and I don't want to make it worse." Jack had to admit that the more time he spent talking with Y/n, the more he wondered what she was doing during the day. They texted often and he enjoyed her insight and sense of humor. There was a piece of him that felt like he didn't deserve this feeling. He didn't deserve a second chance to find someone to spend his days with that he truly cared about.

"You did everything you could to try and apologize to Cleo. She may not have reached out or accepted it but she's moved on with her life, Jack. She moved out of your old place, she's got a new boyfriend..." Jack's eyes lit up.

"Really?" Shanda wonders if she said too much.

"Yes and she's happy. You can't keep punishing yourself for what happened in the past. Things could have been so much worse. Your relationship was collateral damage but you shouldn't live the rest of your life miserably because of it. You deserve happiness just like she does." Shanda threw her arm around Jack's neck and he nodded.

"I love you you fluffy haired bitch. Love yourself a little...and let your neighbor suck your dick for a bit." Shanda teased.

"And they say I'm the fucked up one." Jack put his arm around Shanda and she laughed.

"Hey we're all fucked up. I just know how to have fun." Shanda pulled Jack with her out of the room.

"I'm happy you're here. Thanks for always showing up for me." Jack knew this visit was going to be interesting now that she knew he had an infatuation with the neighbor. All he could hope was that it didn't end in disaster.

#Jack Thurlow #Jack Goes Home #One Shot Series #Jack x Y/n #Glass Houses Series #Glass Houses #Rory Culkin #Culkin Cult #12/38

[unholyhelbig]

Yo! are you ever going to continue the Kate werewolf fic?

[A/n: Yo! It has been a while, I started a new job and I'm currently traveling a lot before I move next month. But I had some time to finish a draft!]

Summary: Reader discovers that there are werewolves in this world after a particularly strange encounter with Kate Bishop.

Read from the start | Request Prompts here

There was a reflection that stared back at you that was vaguely reminiscent of what you had been before the attack. The counter dug into your palms, the mirror fogging with each, long breath that you took. The sink was nearly filled with water now, so you flicked it off.  

Just one more minute, and you’d walk back out there with your shoulders pulled back and a tense smile on your face- because you were calm, collected, and entirely okay with the whole werewolf thing. It prickled under your skin, the knowledge of it. The bite throbbed against your side.

One more breath, one more minute.

There was a soft knock at the door that startled you from your thoughts. You were sweating, and it was awkward to swallow the dryness on your tongue. When you opened the door, Kate was on the other side. She had discarded the sweatshirt, stood uncomfortably with her hands in her jean pockets and a shy smile on her face.

“Hi,” She cupped the back of her neck “have a second to talk?”

“Uh-huh”

You’d taken the first break from conversation to excuse yourself to the bathroom for the specific reason that you felt a panic attack coming on. Your mind barely had time to grasp the fact that you should be dead, but the girl who had plunged you into this situation in the first place had lured you to a creepy murder compound.

It had been forty-five minutes of tense conversation and you were still breathing. Of course, you’d also done nothing but lose the moisture in your mouth and nod along as Clint and Natasha explained the logistics.

You peered down the long hallway, lined with different black and white photos of places around the world. Places that you would never see. You were resigned to the fact that Paris was out of reach, and South Africa would rot away at the bottom of your bucket-list. How bad would it be if you turned into a werewolf on a plane instead of in an Olive Garden?

Kate seemed to sense your spiral, just like she seemed to sense a lot of things. Her tough was gentle, fingers brushing against your own. She led you down that long hallway and to a room that was saturated in her scent.

Posters were against the walls; a muddled bedspread was bunched as if someone had fitfully slept on it. There was a desk with a laptop layered in different stickers. There were books that were sloppily piled on a shelf, and once space had worn away on the wooden structure, they were stacked on the floor.

Kate closed the door, leaned against it and closed her eyes. There were towels on the back of the door. Her scent was overwhelming in here, an instant comfort that eased the prickling of your skin. It was so clearly hers, so comfortable. Light flitted through the blinds, an oscillating fan was draped with a t-shirt, hardly stirring the air.

“I’m really sorry about them.” She rushed out, finally opening her eyes.

You turned and stared at her with a cocked eyebrow. She carried the same type of embarrassment that you harbored during family holidays. There was always that one cousin, always that uncle who was overcompensating and that mother who had a cold, unforgiving gaze because she’d been in the kitchen for too long.

“I was going to ease you into it, really. But you never really know what the vibe is going to be until you’re… here.”

“It’s alright.”

“It is?” She pushed off the door. She was taller than you, and the furrow of her brow was nothing but genuine. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but Natasha and Clint, they’re just trying to help. But they’ve been like this for a long time now. I think sometimes they forget how overwhelming it can be.”

“Uh-huh,”

You repeated yourself, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. You flopped down onto the corner of Kate’s bed, breathing in that hint of lavender and musk that she carried. Your legs were suddenly giving out. Kate was careful with her movements, tentatively sitting on the same side of the bed as you.

Her pinky was close to yours; you could feel the heat and it was overwhelming. But she didn’t’ dare touch you. The seats on the bus had pinned you closer together, but somehow, this was more intimate.

You hadn’t exactly leaned into your college experience, and maybe that had something to do with it. You’d never been in a girls room, much less someone who had dug their canine teeth deep into the flesh of your shoulder.

“I just…” You paused, trying to think of your words very carefully. “I did everything right. I had a plan. I was the first one to graduate from high school- granted, my mother got her GED, but that’s not the point. The point is- I graduated and got into college and did everything right.”

Kate clenched and unclenched her jaw. She wouldn’t look you in the eye, and you had every single right to be angry with her. But there was something deep down that ebbed through the white-hot anger and the bubbling confusion. Something that was akin to fondness. To danger.

“I screwed all of that up.”

“Yeah,” You sighed, “You did.”

There was a hurt in Kate’s eye that stung, just knowing that you caused a fraction of it. But, on the other hand, there was a quiet resolution to it as well. It had just been a flicker before it moved to understanding. Kate’s palm was like fire. She set it on your knee.

“You have every right to hate me. I hate me, y/n. I wouldn’t wish my fate on anyone, and then I had a moment of relapse and I forced it on you.” She moved her thumb, you noticed every electrifying moment. “There is nothing I can do that will ever make up for that night. If you walk out that door and never speak to me again, that’s understandable.”

You laughed, the sound watery, and choked “I don’t think Natasha would allow that.”

There was a sparkle in her eye that quickly faded, the corners of her lips turning up into the slightest bit of a smile. She frowned to cover her amusement, and you found yourself wanting to reach up and rub that little crease from between brows.  

“Right. Yeah,” There was a breathy noise, “What now?”

Your question had lingered on the way home, Kate’s worried glances as she maneuvered a truck that was older than you, kept your nerves in check. This was better than the bus, you decided, even if there was no air conditioning, there was a small crack in each window that allowed the icy air to fill your lungs.

Part of you had been content to borrow Kate’s clothes and simply vanish. It would be easier that way, you figured, not having to rush out a pain-staking goodbye to America and MJ. Though, it wasn’t a goodbye, it was just a ‘see you later’ when they had lives and partners and careers.

“They’ll be resistant.” You had said as the trees began to thin out with architectural bliss. “You know that, right?”

Kate puffed out her chest comedically, “I can take them.”

“MJ, yes. America? I thought she juiced for the first two years of our friendship, and we were six.”

Kate smiled then, and nervously ran her fingers over the length of the ribbed steering wheel. You could hear her heart, and it was thundering over the inner workings of the truck, struggling against the cold weather. You counted the beats. “Tell me about her.”

“Hmm?”

“Your friend, America? It seems like she cares a lot about you. And friends since you were six? That’s a long time. A lot of memories.”

You couldn’t help the nervous smile that spread across your face. Going away to college had just been the latest chapter in a long book that you held near and dear. There was a sadness in the cab of the truck, a realization that you’d have to part, and brutally at that.

“There was this kid, Bobby Daringer, he was an absolute dick. He’d pick on anyone he could make eye-contact with and I’m pretty sure he’s a career criminal now. Anyway, one of my earliest memories was him shoving me on the playground. The taste of mulch. But, I also remember America grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and throwing him a good three feet.”

Kate was smiling, a genuine look that made your stomach twirl. The feeling lingered as a comfortable quiet filled the car. Soon, it morphed into damp palms and a pounding heart. Kate wasn’t Bobby Daringer, but she would have the same painted target, the same quiet seething that America wielded like a sword.

Kate had silenced herself, listening to the tires against the asphalt of highway. It had started to drizzle by the time she rolled into the parking lot of the off-campus apartments. You took a heavy, nervous breath. A hand was in yours, for only a moment, but the warmth was overwhelming, a blanket over your anxieties.

At least, it did, until you clocked both America’s and MJ’s car in the lot. Even more so, you could hear their muted conversations silence the second your key turned in the lock. Your hand was flat against the door, and Kate’s was on the small of your back, steadying you.

This stranger had such a pull on your heart, and part of you resented her for it. She was pulling you from your life, you were going to walk in there and pack a bag and vanish in thin air. There was still a dull ache where her teeth had broken skin, still a dull anger that you were hoping dissipated as you learned, not only to embrace what you had become, but to embrace Kate too.

Something attracted her to you that night, and it was a pull that you admittedly felt. Even as she ran through the woods, pinned you to the forest floor. There was an alluring magnetism to the animal that bit you, and the girl that stood steady by you now. You hated her, you did. But it was ebbing away into something else.

“Stay behind me,” You mumbled, cracking the door “And don’t say a word.”

Kate mimed zipping her lips but smiled dorkily at you regardless. When you pushed your way into the apartment, the scent was overwhelming, but one of comfort and design. You picked up on the candle that MJ lit, vanilla and a hint of cinnamon. There was the dinner they had just finished, pot roast that made your mouth water.

When you pushed your way into the apartment, you were relieved to find it mostly empty, and you led Kate through the small furnishings and the unlit hallway. You pressed your back against the door for only a moment before grabbing the duffel bag that you took to church camp in middle school.

It still smelled like nature, just the smallest hint clung to the fabric. You started shoving anything you could into it, quick with your movements. Kate surveyed your walls, empty and still plain brick. You didn’t feel the need to decorate, as it had never felt like home, not really.  

Kate picked up the book on your nightstand, a worn copy of ‘EMMA’. You’d usually read until your eyesight was blurry and the words turned to mush. But, you knew the story by heart. Once you had filled the bag with clothes, you slugged it over your shoulder and watched her expectantly.

“You don’t want to forget this,” she folded the book close to her chest. “It’s a classic.”

“Yeah, it is.”

It was all you could think to say when you opened your bedroom door and held it open for Kate to pass through. There was a key weighing down your pocket. Kate seemed to read your mind, she slid the bag from your shoulder and onto her own effortlessly. You fished the keyring from your pocket and pushed it off until it was a lone, solitary entity.

Carefully, you moved to set it down on the coffee table, running your fingers over the cool brass.

“Y/n?” MJ’s voice was quiet, “What are you doing?”  

You shot up fast enough to make you dizzy, your eyes shooting towards the looming hallway. America stood with her arms across her chest, her face hard, her eyes a fire-filled shade of green. You could hear her teeth grinding, could feel her anger just as you could feel MJ’s apprehension.

She held a bowl of half-finished mac and cheese, her fork coated in gold. MJ chewed quietly, but set the food on the counter with a movement that was slow enough to keep the sound barrier in-tact.

You could handle America’s rage. It was an immoveable object that buffered your interactions in times like these. It was almost better. If she was angry, then it would give her a reason to hate you, to keep you at a distance. It was the concern in MJ’s voice that threw you for a loop.

Your words were broken “I… I’m going to stay at Kate’s for a little while.”

“Then why are you leaving your keys?” America asked. “Do you ever plan on coming back?”

“Eventually”

Kate winced at the word and let out a small breath. That was the wrong thing to say. There was a sharp scent in the room that you could only register as rage. America uncrossed her arms and took three even steps, closing the distance between you.

“Let me get this straight, you waltz in here a few days ago, absolutely soaked in mud and… and blood, then vanish from the party that we were looking forward to for weeks. And then you sneak out of here this morning only to come back with her? Es como si ya no te conociera!”

There was a pressure behind your eyes. You looked down at the carpet to avoid the tears from flowing over. You weren’t going to cry, not about this. Because this was too much. All of it was boiling to the surface. You swallowed the growing metallic taste in your mouth.

America’s voice lowered, shattered “You worked so hard to be here. I can’t watch and let you throw it away for some girl who I’m assuming is the cause of all of this erratic behavior.”

“She’s not,” You glanced at her, “You’re not.”

“What is it, then? Y/n, you have a full ride! And… and us. MJ and I are here for you. Whatever this is, we can work through it, but we can’t do it if you’re not here.”

A tear escaped, and you used the back of your hand to flush it away. The deep sourness of the anger had turned into something like dying flowers, something of profane sadness. You held the key between you both, not saying a word, because this seemed to be enough of a gesture to say everything that was on the tip of your tongue.

#Kate Bishop #Kate Bishop x reader #Kate Bishop x y/n #Kate Bishop x you #america chavez #mj watson #Marvel #Hawkeye #Hawkeye fanfict #ask

[iamdeceived]

Hi, this is just a cute story!

Warnings: have you drunk water today? What are you waiting for? Want a kidney stone?

(English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any mistakes!)

🦋 Female reader 🦋

*♡*

You were the only woman on Yondu's ship. That meant a lot.

You had your own room, and your own space to do your thing on the ship. Despite appearing tough and frowning, Yondu has always been very understanding with you. With the differences between the sexes of the two of you. He treated you how you would want to be treated and that was that.

Sometimes, you felt the eyes of Yondu's subordinates on your body. At first it bothered you. Now you don't care anymore.It was you who went after Yondu, and asked to be part of his crew. At first the captain thought it absurd. Until you show your skills. Ever since then, you've been hanging out with this bunch of misfits. They have become your family.You didn't even have family on Earth anyway. Nobody cares about you there. Now, with the Ravagers you not only feel like you matter, you really matter.

*⁠♡*

Yondu was furious. Your subordinates are a bunch of imbeciles. They made him lose an absurd amount of money, for some silly thing. "Why didn't I take Y/n? She would have done a much better job than all of them put together!"You just wanted to rest in your room. But you saw when Kraglin came to you, to get away from the captain.

"He's furious! I think he wants to rip my head off!" He spoke, you listened to him as you read your book.

"After all, why then did you lose the customer?" You said, without taking your eyes off the book. "It's just… well… look Y/n… Don't laugh!" You have closed your book. I Am very curious now. "I won't, I promise!" He sighed "Look, we weren't there at the appointed time, because the boys and I saw a library… We know how much you like books, so we were going to bring you some books as a gift…. And then we lost the time." You felt a flush creep up your cheeks. "Oh Kraglin, you guys are adorable! Thank you so much for thinking of me!" You hugged the man awkwardly in front of you, and gave him a kiss on the forehead. "Does Yondu know that's why you wasted your time with the buyer?" Just mentioning the captain's name made him turn away from you. Yondu loves you, and he is very jealous . "That would only make him angrier!" You smiled.

You love these boys!

You had a "secret" affair with Yondu a few days ago. But everyone there, including the guardians themselves, knew you were going to be together at some point.

"Don't worry, I'll talk to him myself!" Kraglin nodded yes. Before leaving his room, he took a package out of his pocket. It was small. It fits in the palm of your hand. "I only managed to bring this." His eyes sparkled. You opened the small package and saw the leather book. It was the story of an alien town. You enveloped Kraglin in a hug.

"I loved it! Seriously, thank you so much! You're a great Kraglin!"

You popped one more kiss on his forehead before he staggered out of your room.

*♡*

You devoured the book Kraglin gave you at an astonishing rate. It was on the last pages, when the door opened and Yondu entered. He is frowning. Maybe stressed.

He settled down beside her on the bed, and wrapped his strong arms around her waist. He relaxed his head into his chest. And threw a leg over yours.

You immediately took your hand to your head, to caress. "Tired, dear?" He muttered a yes. "Kraglin told you why they wasted time with the buyer?" Yondu snuggled even closer to you. "It did. That idiot!" You laughed.

He looked really tired when he asked "Honey… Can you read to me?" Without answering him, you started reading aloud. As a mother would for her child. You felt Yondu relax on top of you. He was sleeping.

You put the book on top of the dresser, and got ready with it on the bed. And then you let tiredness overcome you.

The angry buyer and the lost money were completely forgotten.

#yondu x reader #gotg #yondu udonta #yondu udonta x reader

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Sometimes the Adaptation is the Book, Actually...

So, as I'm sure more than a few of you did, I enjoyed the heck out of Jill Bearup's fantasy heroin YouTube shorts series. And as I'm sure many of us have experienced, YouTuber books can be...distinctly hit-or-miss in terms of quality. So when Bearup announced that she was adapting the shorts series into an actual book, I was willing to give it a shot when it came out. So in Bearup's own tier list terms, I'd give this book a pretty good. Strong concept, a lot to like...but the TYPESETTING, my god. Let's talk Just Stab Me Now.

This is your spoiler warning for a book that has been EXTREMELY hyped on YouTube, and one who's story has already been told on YouTube. Here there be Spoilers.

So normally I like to start with the things I like about a book, but since I liked so much about this book and the one thing that I didn't like could have stopped me cold, we're going to start with the one thing that I think was actually bad. The typesetting.

To be clear: Bearup was extremely clear that using different fonts and margins to delineate between Caroline's world, the fantasy world, and Caroline's mind where she interacts with the fantasy characters was a considered, intentional choice. That's valid, and there is nothing inherently wrong with making that choice. It's also well done in the book, like it's consistent and well put together.

That said: Oh my god you guys, I hated it. It took me the first fifty-odd pages to get used to it, and even then, it AGGRESSIVELY snapped my editor brain's bra strap. I seriously considered putting the book down because of the typesetting, which would have been a crying shame because I really enjoyed the book overall. This might not bother some readers, but it was nearly a dealbreaker for me, so I wanted to mention it as a "your mileage may vary" kind of thing.

Other than that though, I think this book did a pretty solid job of adapting the fantasy heroine shorts into a full-blown novel.

Caroline Lindley is very much helicopter parenting her fictional characters, and the fact that they are by turns bemused and cranky about this is very fun throughout the novel. I also like that we get a lot more of Caroline in the novel than we did in the shorts series. Her story was just as compelling as Rosamund and Leo's, and I quite enjoyed having the extraordinarily modern cybersecurity subplot to balance the fantasy setting as well. I wasn't expecting that to work as well as it did, but thematically it resonated quite well, and I like the acknowledgement that while we don't use swords and political marriages so much these days, it's not like we've STOPPED having enemies and needing to protect ourselves, our homes, and our families. The relationship between modernity and "no particular historical era" in terms of thematic connections was really well done.

The general added depth to all the characters was also excellent, since we had time and space for characterization that the shorts series had to skim over for time. We really felt Rosamund's grief in the book, Leo had way more personality (and I loved that) and some of the plot stuff was smoothed and fleshed out in some really interesting ways. The caladrius was actually an inspired touch, and it tied together a bunch of slightly odd things in the series in a really elegant way. It also gave Baron Mabry and George an interesting parallel too, since they were both screwing over people for financial gain. The methods might be different, but the heart of the crimes and the harm they do are fairly universal.

As a writer, I also ADORED the conceit of Caroline being absolutely out of control in her process. She was trying SO HARD to write a standard enemies-to-lovers romantasy and literally nothing could get her plot or characters there. Every writer has been there, every writer has had little breakdowns over the story just not freaking doing what you tell it to, and there was something deeply vindicating about it. I loved the personification of the writing process.

This book also had a little bit of that Princess Bride feel where it is both a send-up of romance tropes and a deeply respectful nod to them. I don't know that pastiche is the right word here, but neither does parody seem to be, and I think we need a word for this writing mood, where you're both deconstructing and reiterating a series of tropes. I don't have a word for it, but this is a thing that pops up periodically (periodic because it's genuinely hard to do well; lean too far to one side or the other and it flops catastrophically) and we should name it.

Overall, for a book from a YouTuber--especially one who rather famously discovered halfway through the process that she does not enjoy writing fiction--I was pleasantly surprised by this book, and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it. Bearup has told us not to expect a sequel, so I won't...but if one materialized in the future, I'd read it!

#just stab me now #jill bearup #books and reading #books #books and novels #books & libraries #book recommendations

[itslikeaspaceship]

So the “Joel braiding Ellie’s hair” thing has me in an actual chokehold. And yeah. The result is this:

Joel was reading when Ellie came into the living room. He’d been there for the last couple hours, feet propped up on the coffee table as he passed the time. It was one of those slower days in Jackson. One where the windows were cracked, and the spring air was enough to keep the house cool.

Usually on days like this, Ellie would go to the stables, spend a few hours riding Shimmer, before coming home and curling up next to Joel, begging him to read her the new space book she’d found.

Joel please, please, please

After to much begging and not enough arguing, Joel would finally give in.

Alright alright, shut your trap and give it to me

This was routine, familiar, that’s why today was so odd to him.

Ellie hadn’t left the house, didn’t even leave her room. She’d been quiet, secluded, and she hadn’t even said hello, making him figure it must have been a bad night. The dad part of him begged him to run upstairs and scoop her up, a weak attempt at taking away all of her pain. But the Joel part of him knew better, and so he waited. Rereading the same five sentences over and over again as he tried and failed to focus.

Finally one page turn later, he just decided to put the book aside altogether, sighing as the small thud echoed in his ear. He didn’t like days like this. Days where Ellie wasn’t, Ellie.

“Joel.” He turned his head at the sound of his name.

Ellie was standing in the doorway, every part of her blocked out by the semi-darkness the house was in. He smiled at her dark figure, waiting patiently for her to come out.

“Yes baby.” He spoke gently, reaching out his hand so she would walk forward. When she got closer he noticed those deer-in-a-headlight eyes and the small build-up of tears that was beginning to show itself on her cheeks. A further indication that Ellie, wasn’t Ellie,

“What do you need honey?” He asked as she sat down, hand so small and fragile in his. She just shrugged her shoulders, keeping her eyes glued to the thumb that was grazing her knuckles.

“Well.” He said, trying to think of absolutely anything that could calm her racing mind. “How about, how bout I braid your hair?” His heart thumped in his chest as her head shot up. “Huh.”

He’d been embarrassed to admit it, but he’d gone to Maria for help. It’d been so long since he’d had a daughter, that some of his dad mojo got lost amongst the chaos.

Maria i-do you happen to know um, how to-how to braid hair?

He’d been so so nervous to ask, thinking she’d sit there and laugh in his face. But instead she just smiled.

Of course, I can teach you if you want

I’d like that

And so the last couple weeks, every day after patrol (because after an incident with Ellie Joel just didn’t work night patrols anymore.) he’d go over to Maria’s, and she’d show him how to do different braids. It was something he really wasn’t sure he’d ever get the excuse to use on her, until today came along.

“Ellie.” She was long gone for a minute, mind some where else, it made her jerk when he touched her face to pull her back to him. “Do you want me to?”

“I don’t, um-” He watched her hold back a sob and so he took it upon himself to make the decision for her.

“C’mere baby.” He pulled her hand to make her stand and guided him in front of her, letting her sit down on his legs. He adjusted himself so he was sitting up more, his feet falling off the coffee table as Ellie lightly tapped her heels against him.

“I’m gonna take your hair down.” He pulled out her hair tie, placing it on his wrist as he brushed his fingers through her hair. He was oh so gentle, making sure not to pull to hard. Ellie typically was very sensitive on days like these, and the smallest wrong move could make her crawl all the way back to square one. He despised square one.

His plan was just to do a simple braid, nothing that caused a bunch of moving around or head turning. She didn’t need that, she just needed him.

Her hands fell down to his jeans as he picked up his three strands, lightly combing through them as he folded each piece over. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” She whispered, inhaling a shaky breath.

He smiled gently, letting his thumb rest at the base of her neck for a moment. “Okay then baby girl, we wont talk about it.”

He tied off her braid when he was finished, patting her shoulders to indicate he was done. Almost immediately she fell back against him, letting her neck settle into the crook of his. “You’re warm.” She whispered, closing her eyes.

He chuckled. He knows he’s warm, she says that a lot when she’s tired. She also refuses a blanket when she’s laying on him, but that’s a story for another time.

“Thanks kiddo.” She responded with a nuzzle to his neck, her nose rubbing against his scruff. He came to the conclusion that she definitely had a bad night, one that involved nothing but nightmares and staring at the ceiling. He estimated about five minutes and she’d be snoring, and he also guessed he was going to be here for a long while. Cause there was no way in hell he was ever going to move.

“Want me to read kiddo?”

“No.” She said again, grabbing his wrists to wrap them around her body. “Just want you.”

He squeezed her closer, lightly kissing the back of her head. “Well you got me baby girl.” He said, placing another kiss to her temple. “And I’m not going nowhere.”

#ellie williams #joel and ellie #joel miller #the last of us #tlou #I love them more then anything in the whole world