#whirlwind character page

[yourlocaltoad]

Assets used for Polar Whirlwind's Character page (skylanders.com, 2013/2014)

#not art #skylanders #skylanders website #skylanders spyro's adventure #skylanders whirlwind #polar whirlwind #whirlwind character page

[deadvnstudios]

oh no! i got into a argument with the romanceables and they said something so stupid that upset me! how do they apologize? :3

"H-hey. Can you just... come to my room tonight? I… I have something I want to show you."

Upon entering Tempest's room later that evening, you're immediately struck by its uncharacteristic cleanliness and the candles meticulously arranged along his shelves. They cast a warm glow over Tempest, seated on his bed with legs crossed, cradling a guitar in his lap. He proceeds to serenade you with a song, personally composed for you, by him. The performance is brief, encompassing only a single verse, and as the final note fades, Tempest asks you to forgive him.

"Oopsy-daisy, baby's breath. Iris-pectfully apologize. Please forget-me-not… and uhm… Look. Bad puns aside, what I'm trying to say is… I'm sorry for upsetting you."

The morning after your fight, you find Vein lingering outside your room, a vibrant bouquet of your favorite flowers in her hands. Before you can react, the flowers are crumpled against your chest in a crushing embrace as Vein pulls you into a whirlwind hug. The world blurs as she spins you round and round, leaving you with only two choices:

a) vomit from dizziness or

b) accept her sincerest apology

"Fine, I messed up. Happy? Now pick your apology – but you only get one, got it?"

Insisting that you would be unable to sleep until she apologized, Mary storms into your room in the dead of night, jarring you from sleep. Taking advantage of your grogginess, she pins you to your bed and fans out the thin, crumpled slices of paper clutched in her hand. She orders you to select one. On each slip of paper, a different IOU is written:

IOU a full day of doing whatever the hell you want to do

IOU a movie night where we watch all of your favorite trash movies

IOU a letter detailing all of your least annoying traits

IOU a homemade dinner of your choosing (...but cooked by Noel, he owes me)

"Darling dearest, how much longer will you leave me to linger in the hall? My night will be frigid, unbearably bothersome as I shiver on my lonesome without you by my side….could you find it in your heart to forgive a fool? At least one foolishly in love?”

You sigh as Mona continues to dramatically plead at your bedroom door, talons tapping incessantly against the wood as her anxieties begin to emerge. As you finally open the door, she rushes in and nearly tackles you to the ground. Trapped within her hold she noisily smooches over the entirety of your face, cradling you like you’re something precious. Irreplaceable. You two will have a serious talk in the morning, but you’ll spend the rest of the night tangled together, cuddling under the sheets as she whispers into your ear every reason she fell for you to begin with.

“Beloved, the affliction of affection ails me; my world becoming insipid and dull in your absence. In having wounded you, I have wounded myself. I will eagerly bleed my heart dry in repentance if it can’t beat beside yours. I would give you all of myself to see you smile at me once more. Please, return to me tomorrow. I miss you.”

The note Sorin slipped under your door is littered with a stray tear mark here and there. Your heart aches as the the crooked letters, scribbled on hurriedly, bleed across the page from the dampness. When you go to find him the next morning, Sorin eagerly intertwines their fingers with yours, kissing your knuckles as they beg for your pardon and your company. The two of you plan to take a nap in the sunlit garden, but you have to silence Sorin with a kiss as he prattles on, praising your character.

”Wait…I…please. Hear me out.”

Noel heaves against the doorframe, one arm holding open the door you’d planned to shove close. Though his ears burn in shame, he requests that you join him that evening for dinner. In his room. Alone. When you arrive you’re taken aback by the makeshift candlelit dinner set up on a picnic blanket on the floor. Noel sheepishly lights a candle, letting you know that he’s prepared your favorite. He doesn’t want to talk while the two of you are hangry.

#fool's paradise #indie games #visual novel #vn #indie game #vein #mona #tempest #noel #mary #sorin

[silverskye13]

The Shakespeare line "you egg? (He stabs him)" Is totally Hels towards Wels lol

Lin you're hilarious lol

"What. Are you doing?" Welsknight asked, trying not to sound as confused as he was.

Helsknight glanced up from the book he was reading to regard him with obvious disdain. "That question doesn't deserve an answer."

"Okay fine." Welsknight rolled his eyes. "Why are you here, on Hermitcraft, reading a book."

"Because Shakespeare was made to be read in the sun, and on the stage," Helsknight sniffed. "I'm not putting on a one-man-performance, and there's no sun in hels."

"So you're here."

"No, I'm on the moon."

"You don't have to be so touchy," Wels scowled. He took a breath, and decided to try his best to be civil. "I like Shakespeare."

Helsknight dropped his gaze back down to his book, "Congratulations."

"He's a classic." Welsknight continued steadfastly. "Which play are you reading?"

"Don't you have something better to do?"

"Obviously not."

"Get thee gone, go mind your own damn business." Helsknight closed his book again, keeping his thumb on the page he had last been reading, and smacked Wels none-too-gently on the leg with it. "Out, damned spot."

"You're reading Macbeth?" Welsknight smirked. "Of course you're reading Macbeth."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"It's just very on brand." Welsknight laughed. "You wouldn't read any comedy. You've got no sense of humor."

Helsknight let out a long breath, trying valiantly to maintain hold of his dwindling patience. He reopened his book and glared down at the pages, doing his best to stubbornly ignore Wels. Welsknight watched him. Admittedly, if he were a Shakespearian character, his fatal flaw would be his inability to let sleeping dogs lie, no matter how wise it was to walk away and let Helsknight read. He wasn't hurting anyone, and Welsknight didn't particularly feel like getting into a fight.

But how many chances did he get to really annoy his evil half?

"So, how far in the play are you?" Welsknight asked, earning himself a long half-groan, half-growl from his other half. "Have they killed Duncan yet?"

"Spoilers."

"You just quoted Lady Macbeth's nervous breakdown at me. You've read Duncan's death before."

"Maybe I've just heard the quote somewhere."

"Out, damned spot," Welsknight mused. "Past that then. From the damnéd spot to the candle, perchance?"

"Excuse me?"

"Fair Lady Macbeth's demise!" Welsknight proclaimed, reveling in the chagrined expression Helsknight shot him. "Out, out, brief candle? Why, life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more!"

"It is a tale told by an idiot," Helsknight glared, "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

"I'm going to pretend you were just finishing the stanza, and that wasn't an insult."

"It was an insult."

"You're probably not even reading Macbeth," Welsknight smiled, ignoring the jab. "One of the other great monologues maybe."

"Don't you dare--"

"Fie, fie! Unknit that threat’ning unkind brow," Welsknight exclaimed, eyebrows raised, his barely contained grin undercutting his attempt at a dramatic gasp. "And dart not scornful glances from those eyes to wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor. It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads, confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds, and in no sense is meet or amiable."

"Would you shut up?"

"Come, come, you froward and unable worm! My mind hath been as big as yours, my heart as great, my reason haply more, to bandy word for word and frown for frown."

"Wels I swear--"

"Not taming any shrews, then?" Welsknight continued, undaunted. "Probably not. You're probably reading something violent and full of itself. That matches you best."

Helsknight got to his feet, his hand on his sword hilt, his book forgotten in the grass. Welsknight took a few steps back, giving himself a little distance to work with in case Hels decided to lunge at him. He smiled and bowed low. "I do protest, I never injured thee but love thee better than thou canst devise, till thou shalt know the reason of my love! And so, good Capulet, which name I tender as dearly as mine own, be satisfied."

Helsknight's fist tightened on his sword hilt. "I have had just about enough of you."

"No no, you've got the verse all wrong," Welsknight tutted in mock dismay. "The next line belongs to Mercurio, saying: O calm, dishonorable, vile submission! Alla stoccato carries it away."

Welsknight drew his sword with a theatrical flourish and declared, "Helsknight, you ratcatcher! Will you walk?"

Helsknight narrowed his eyes. "What wouldst though have of me?"

"Good king of cats! Nothing but one of your nine lives, that I mean to make bold withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears? Make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out."

Welsknight expected Helsknight to draw his sword then, and respond in kind as Tybalt had. Instead, Helsknight simply stood there, studying him contemplatively. A few seconds passed, and then a full minute, and Welsknight lowered his sword, pointing the tip towards the grass.

"What's the matter Hels?" Welsknight smirked. "Too much of a brute to memorize Romeo and Juliet?"

Helsknight raised an unamused eyebrow. "What, you egg?"

Welsknight blinked, incredulously. He had enough time to place the line in Macbeth, and enough time again to remember when in the story the stupid line took place. And then he didn't think much of anything, because Helsknight had stabbed him.

"Rude." Welsknight managed.

"Young fry of treachery," Helsknight finished the line. Then he bent to pick up his book, and Welsknight respawned with Helsknight's parting words ringing in his head. "If you must know, it was Sonnet 73."

Welsknight sat up in his castle, shuddering off the last ghost of his respawn. He rolled his eyes at the unpleasantness, and then, because he was curious, padded over to his shelf to grab his book of Shakespeare's sonnets from his collection of books.

[Sonnet 73]

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day

As after sunset fadeth in the west,

Which by and by black night doth take away,

Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

As the death-bed whereon it must expire,

Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

Welsknight read the poem again, an eyebrow raised. "All that drama, and he's not even reading a play."

Welsknight rolled his eyes. "Whatever Hels."

He shelved the book.

#the barking writer #helsknight #welsknight #not tagging as The Fic because theyre too tolerant of each kther for it to be the fic universe #hi this is the showcase of my favorite monologues from the bard can you tell #barring the taming of the shrew monologue #that one just seemed like it would fit there

[otdiaftg]

WHAT'S NEXT:

The out pouring of love for this blog has swept me off my feet. I knew the logic behind the follower count, but this weekend proved to me without a shadow of a doubt just how much this fandom cherishes these characters and this story.

I am overwhelmed with adoration towards every. single. one. of you.

I took the weekend to finally recoup after the whirlwind of this past year but wanted to take a moment now to answer some of the questions I've seen pop up and to inform you all of what my plans are for what's next.

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS:

WILL YOU CONTINUE THE ACCOUNT THIS YEAR?

This took me a long time to ponder and I wanted to make sure I was in the correct headspace to answer it. Short answer: No.

Long answer: All For The Game is near and dear to my heart. And the reason I began this account was because the dates for 2023 matched that of the dates they were meant to be in 2006. To continue it in the year 2024 would mean the dates would be completely wrong and a lot more logistics would have to occur beforehand.

But also-- I'm not the best when it comes to technology, especially when it comes to BOTS so every post that was published was typed out, formatted and scheduled by hand by me. I did not have help. I did not have proofreaders, or editors, or managers. I contacted all the artists myself, sorted through every single page of the artists to find matches to the story, read and re-read the books for exact or guesstimation of dates/times, and made a hell of a lot of typos on the way through all that.

There was probably an easier way that I could have done all this. But I didn't/don't know it. So that all boils down to: It’s a long and tiring process.

Don't get me wrong, it was worth all the hours. And all the sleepless nights I had getting everything done and out. I already thanked my support network, but without my wife and my best friend being there to make me another cup of coffee, walk our dog, do the chores and generally make sure I didn't crumble from the pressure -- none of this would have happened.

So, putting myself through that again, after everything that has happened this year alone-- felt like it would cheapen the experience I had when the dates won't even match.

That being said.... 2034 isn't that far away. >__>

WILL YOU BE DOING AN OTDITSC?

Short answer: No.... sorry.

Long answer: As stated, it is VERY hard to organize what and how I did. HOURS spent researching, organizing, scheduling, etc. Time spent away from my family and other hobbies. NOT time I regret (need to keep prefacing that) but time I want back now. At least for a little bit.

It also doesn't sit right for me to start an OTDITSC when I know some people are still waiting for their copies. There are so many of us out here (as I've come to find out) and I don't want to exclude people's enjoyment and connection that this account gives. I also feel like the more posts about TSC out there, the harder it is for those who are (lets say) waiting for the physical copies to block/mute spoilers. We can say a tag is enough, but this is the internet. And that's not always true.

And lastly, personally, TSC is still SO VERY NEW. It's not even complete yet and we don't 100% know when the next one will be published. I don't want to start something, get to the end of the timeline, and than have a huge gap between posts that will potentially be moments in the second book. It doesn't feel fair to their story, to myself, or to the followers of this account to have incorrect information for something I love so dearly. If I'm doing it. I want to do it right.

SO, WHAT'S NEXT?

Well. A lot. For me personally, as well as this account. I don't want to leave everyone in such a finite way. I love this fandom. I love its art and writings and the abundance of talent and joy that it exudes.

So first, for myself, as well as those artists who agreed to help with this account, I want to post, for the next 40 days Artist Highlights (that means this account will still be active until Friday, May 24th).

Every day, I will post about an Artist and the work that I wanted to post but couldn't fit in. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, these artists are the reason this account thrives. Art, in a multitude of forms, speaks in a way words can not. And these artists prove that.

I'm excited to show them off for a couple more weeks at least. They are all wonderful people.

AND, FINALLY:

To also tie us over, I am opening both my personal account as well as this account to questions.

Questions regarding the process, the story, the best movie out in theaters, whatever. I will be answering your questions (as fast as I can) until that last Artists Highlight day (Friday, May 24th). After this day, I will leave the questions answered up for a week, and then remove/delete them from this account. I want to make this more of an archive of sorts and will be updating the Timeline Page as this progresses as well, so you can move freely within the timeline.

Keep in mind that I am only one person, have a family and a full-time job-- so answers may be sporadic, but I will answer them.

This has truly been such a pleasure. And whether I get questions or not, I see you and I appreciate you. I hope your life is filled with everything you ever want, everything you need, and that you never let it go.

🦊 🧡- Kelysium

#aftg #all for the game #neil josten #tkm #the kings men #the foxhole court #andrew minyard #palmetto state university #psu foxes #andreil #on this day in aftg #otdiaftg #palmetto state foxes #otdi all for the game #nora sakavic #the foxes #on this day in all for the game

[gritsandbrits]

In light of recent news over the passing of voice actress Arleen Sorkin, I wish to reflect on the impact of Harley Quinn on my life.

When I was a kid I grew with Harley. From getting fired from a tv show for giving questionable advice, as her backstory in the 2004 cartoon The Batman, to falling in mad love with her own patient as is the origin story in the 92 animated and subsequent media, Harley has such a big role in Batman lore I don't remember a single time where she wasn't involved. Sometimes I wonder what batman mythos was like before her inclusion.

The first thing that drew me to Harley was her design. Red and black the colors of danger which she was. But there was an added playfulness, that she genuinely enjoyed being herself. She was also VERY hilarious and at times out of pocket. Child Me was amazed. Did I want to be her? Not necessarily. But she did look like someone I'd hang out with.

The meta origin of Harley is just as fascinating. The creators of BTAS saw a performance of Arleen in a clown costume. From there inspiration leapt off the pages onto the big screen. Unlike most of the cast Harley didn't originate from the comics. She was created exclusively for the show, an OC if you will. OCs tend to have a mixed reputation. But Harley's concept and execution was so perfect, she almost feels like she could've been a real character in the comics.

And real she became!

Introduced as a psychiatrist, after receiving Joker as a patient, Dr. Harleen Quinzel begins to fall in love with him; and down a path to iconoclastic doom. Her love for Joker is obsessive, hilarious shallow, horrible but also downright entertaining to watch. I enjoyed every moment she was on screen: I still quote "rev up your Harley" to this day! I see her despair, her goofy outlook and morbid ruthlessness. I wanted her to get comeuppance but at the same time I can't help but feel sorry for her.

Joker abuses her, ignores her, and only complements her when she does something good for him. While the makes how awful their relationship clear, there are a good amount of fans who sees the pair as a glamorous whirlwind romance a la Sonny and Brenda or Jane and Mr Rochester. While such fantasies may seem morbid I don't blame them. No matter how horrible Harley is there is a tiny unavoidable spot that aches for her to win. Or at least see Joker for the monster he really is. While Harley is often held accountable for her actions her arc shows that no one deserves to be abused.

Arleen's performance played a major role in brining Harley to life. She nailed her weaknesses and strengths with such a sincere note that elicits pity, humor and shock at the same time. And of course that ear candy of the New Jersey accent that set the standard for future VAs. Whenever I look at a picture of Harley I hear Arleen. Not to say the other VAs aren't bad, but Arleen's performance is that iconic I can't help but think of her!

Over the years Harley grew apart from Clown Prince of Crime. She got her own spinoff comics, made appearances in other DC media. She even gotten her own tv show which sees the DC universe through her eyes. Harley has marginally healthier romances, primarily Poison Ivy (this isn't to say that pairing doesn't have it's share of toxic moments). The Harlivy ship is a fan favorite but even without shipping and the wars, Harley still shines bright as the Bat Signal.

In a way Harley's descent and eventual rise back to normalcy reminds me of my own struggles. I wasn't a happy child growing up, I've made a lot of mistakes and bad choices. To see a person like Harley work to take back control of her life, makes me feel a bit better for my own prospects. Of course I wouldn't torture a kid to near insanity or blow up a whole city but I can at least put my energy towards something constructive. Harley shows people like me thay we can be more than just screwups if we try.

Of course I can't forget Harley's design. The red&black suit is an icon by itself and inspires similar designs in and outside comics. I could talk all day about how cool her design is from a show and historical perspective but that would take me all day. While I prefer her classic palette, her recent blue and pinks aren't bad either and show just how far she's come out of Joker's shadow. It's even to the point where when, I see something black and red and white I have to point it out and say "Harley would love that outfit!"

Nowadays I complain about the oversaturation of Harley quinn (seriously what was DC thinking taking a team started by a disabled character to reclaim her agency) and overshadowing other cool DC villains. But I would be lying of I say she didn't leave an impact. And it's all thanks to Arleen Sorkin for breathing life into a character that proves you don't need to be be from "the comics" to be considered cool.

Thank you Arleen! May her memory be a blessing - Grits.

#arleen sorkin #harley quinn #essay #dc comics #btas #voice actors #batman the animated series #birds of prey #harley quinn show #characters #may her memory be a blessing

[balladofmyramblings]

I’ve seen my fair share of…interesting BOSAS takes (Tigris and Snow’s relationship doesn’t make sense, Sejanus wasn’t important to Coriolanus/Coriolanus’ character, Dean Highbottom was inconsistent, people just called Lucy Gray Lucy instead of LG or something, etc) but never has one irked me as much as people saying the ending was rushed or out of character or didn’t make sense.

The ending is a representation of their whole relationship. Yeah, it’s rushed, because it lasted 3 months and they were prepared to spend their life together after that. No, it was completely in character. Yes, it made total sense, because what else would have convinced Coriolanus to go back, if not the idea that he was safe?

First off, elaborating on the rushed point, be so fr. 1, the book was getting a bit long anyways, and 2, it couldn’t have been long and drawn out. How quick their relationship crumbled and we were shown Coriolanus’ true loyalties shows so much I can’t even begin to explain it, but I’ll try.

It shows how Lucy Gray valued family and trust. She’d already talked about how much trust mattered to her, and she’d been hurt so badly before she needed it. She needs trust, and she doesn’t just need it for herself. She needs to be able to trust him, and she needs him to be able to trust her. When Coriolanus obviously lied about the third person he killed, Lucy Gray realized that neither of those things were there.

It shows how Coriolanus valued himself and the capitol above all else. He was going to, and tried to, kill Lucy Gray. The person who, just 10 minutes ago he was prepared to spend the rest of his life with. He did that because he couldn’t be guaranteed loyalty, and because he realized she definitely didn’t belong to him. Coriolanus’ view of Lucy Gray- that she’s a pet, or something just for him, is entirely effed up and he can’t see that, so he clings to it. He clings to that idea of her being his and when it’s proven false, he can’t let go of it.

Lucy Gray was there when Coriolanus lied to her about the killing, and there was only one person he could have also killed. She was wary of him then, what he was capable of, but she didn’t know for sure where his loyalty truly laid until she saw the look on his face with the guns. She knew then that the Coriolanus standing before her she couldn’t trust, and she knew what that meant, and Coriolanus knew she knew what that meant and he couldn’t deal with the fact she wasn’t completely infatuated with him.

It’s also worthy to mention how easily Coriolanus started to see Lucy Gray differently. He justified his killing of her to himself, as we see in the whole “she’s a victor, maybe Billy taupe was right, etc” page. He thinks that it may have been an act all along, and can’t deal with the fact he fell in love with someone who could turn on him so easily. So he justifies it and makes stuff up and uses all he can to convince himself of the devilish nature of Lucy Gray.

Coriolanus’ deep, unwavering faith in the capitol is shown here so clearly I feel like it’s bleeding into my eyes. He was so ready to leave her (also how he thought she’d be ok with it also proves how he sees her as completely loyal) when he realized he was basically innocent. He is only ever scared of the capitol when it could harm him.

Their whole relationship was a whirlwind, and could never have had a breakup 3 chapters long. It needed to be quick and easy, all ties cut. The fate of Lucy Gray also needed to be a mystery, because nothing else in his life is. The constant worrying of if she’d ever tell, if she’s alive or not, blah blah blah unsettles him just like he deserves it to. We don’t get an answer to if Lucy Gray came back (probably not though), we don’t even get an answer if she’s alive.

In conclusion, the end of BOSAS was very fitting, and though unpredictable and fast, it was right.

#also maybe gonna elaborate on the other takes #ballad of songbirds and snakes #bosas #ballad of my ramblings #coriolanus snow #hunger games #katniss everdeen #the hunger games #lucy gray baird #district 12 #dr Gaul #sejanus plinth #Lucy gray

[forthegothicheroine]

Do you have any gothic novels that you can recommend off the top of your head? Especially to people who want to try their hand at the genre? I've hit a wall in my project and I need to get some fresh inspiration, but I don't know where to start and the book side of tumblr failed me the last time I tried asking them for recs

Hell yeah! I made some old posts for this a while back, but it's good to look at it again with my more recent taste! Let's see...

Classic Gothics

Dracula: The one, the only. Often imitated, never equalled.

Frankenstein: Short, sad and world changing! Can get a little slow at parts, but definitely worth it. (True story, my parents read this to me as a fetus to calm my kicking, so it's part of my personal mythology!)

The Case of Charles Dexter Ward: The most gothic of Lovecraft's work, and possibly my favorite. Novella length, usually found in collections.

The Picture of Dorian Gray: Sinister, sexy, philosophical, with a main character I want to punch in the face!

Carmilla: Another novella, about as lush and swooning as vampire stories get.

The Hound of the Baskervilles: A very readable gothic mystery.

Confessions of a Justified Sinner: This one isn't as action packed, but if you have big religious issues like me, it's incredibly haunting.

The Monk: Like the above, but sleazier and crazier!

Northanger Abbey: A gentle parody of early gothics, starring an adorable proto-goth girl.

The Italian: I'll be honest, I find Anne Radcliffe kind of a slog, but if you liked Northanger Abbey and want to read what Catherine Morland reads, this is probably the most accessible.

A Long Fatal Love Chase: This starts as campy and then takes a plunge into gut-wrenchingly intense. The book Jo March was always trying to write!

The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde: Another novella, and Stevenson is one of the best writers out there for excitement!

The Werewolf of Paris: Gothic monster as serial killer, still scary today.

Rebecca: The foundation of all gothic romance to come afterwards. A ghost story without a ghost, with an ending that's still debated as happy or sad!

Jane Eyre: The other foundation of all gothic romance to come afterwards. I bounced off the child abuse-heavy beginning a few times, but I'm very glad I finally read to the good stuff!

The Castle of Otranto: Considered the first gothic novel, a goofy b-movie in written form.

Modern-ish Gothics (post-1950 or so)

The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein: Fuck the haters, I love this book.

Mexican Gothic: Genuinely scary, genuinely romantic, genuinely creative. A favorite.

Blackwater: A southern gothic saga of a family in a flooded town, whose scion marries a woman who isn't quite human. A whirlwind ride!

A Bloodsmoor Romance: Another family saga, this one northern gothic, with sisters whose lives all go off the rails in different supernatural ways. Give this a try before writing Joyce Carol Oates off entirely!

The Silver Devil: A nasty, problematic bodice ripper where you'll cheer for the heroine to bring the hero down low!

Interview with the Vampire: To be honest again, I'm not super into Anne Rice, but this is a page-turner, and every vampire book that has come after it has had to respond to it in one way or another. Read the next two Vampire Chronicles books if you like it!

A Taste of Blood Wine: My own preferred sexy vampire romance!

The Bloody Chamber: The ultimate dark sexy fairy tale work, accept no substitutes.

Haunted Castles: Contains the brilliant novella Sardonicus, as well as some other campy gothic stories!

A Great and Terrible Beauty: Many millennials were introduced to the gothic genre via this, Fear Street Sagas, or A Series of Unfortunate Events. This is my favorite of the three, though the sequels are a bit of a letdown.

Gormenghast: This series is a throwback to the pseudo-medieval, Otranto-style gothic, but much better. Don't read Titus Alone.

#books #gothic literature

[fictionalmenmakemecry]

Carmy Losin' Cool

Characters: Carmy Berzatto x reader

Summary: Things getting heated in the kitchen making Carmy emotions runs high. This leads to him acting out of character and making you beg for mercy.

Warnings: Fluff, Cursing

Author's note: Thinking of doing more The Bear fan fiction. Please let me know if you would like me to continue on this!

"Carmy, I need you to calm down" I grabbed his arm wanting him to draw his attention to me instead of the chaos around him.

"Fuck! This can't be happening..." His eyes were darting everywhere.

He pulled his hands up to his hair, tugging it, completely overwhelmed.

Hearing the printer continuously burning through paper as more tickets appeared.

"I-I'm so sorry" Sydney muttered coming to the realization of what was happening.

"I told you. I told you over and over. OVER AND OVER!" He raised his voice pointing aggressively at the takeout tablet.

" I checked it! It said that- " Sydney quivered.

I looked over and caught her line of sight. She had the look of fear in her eyes. She never saw Carmy like this. This heated. This angry.

"Get the FUCK out of the kitchen!" Carmy yelled picking up the fallen tickets that were now overflowing the shelf.

She didn't budget. Frozen.

"Syd, come on" I tried to usher her, getting in between her and Carmy.

"NOW!" He shouted feeling his breath on the back of my neck his arm extended to the door.

I pulled her by the arm leading her out of the kitchen. She followed like a zombie, completely hazed. I grabbed her bag from her locker and brought her to the front door.

I could hear Carmy giving aggressive orders in the back, still hearing the rage in his voice.

"I fucked up" She had finally caught up to what had happened.

I just nodded, wanting her to go home and let the everyone calm down.

"What's going to happen?" She looked at me, half way out the door.

I paused for a moment holding the door open but not looking away.

"Just stay away for the next two days. I'll talk to him" I said wanting this day to be over.

She nodded gently before giving me a fake soft smile but still seeing the sadness in her eyes.

I watched as she left and locked the door. I took a deep breath for a moment knowing I was going to have to stay calm in the whirlwind of emotions in the back.

I made my way back and continued to hear the dominant voice of Carmy still dictating away.

I walked in slowly and watched everyone work frantically, The only noises were Carmy, the banging of pans and the occasional 'Yes Chef'.

I turned around and went into the office. I was going to busy myself with overdue bills until this nightmare burnt out.

_________

"Hey" A soft voice spoke out.

I popped my head up from the mess of paper piles that were on my lap.

I saw Carmy leaning against the doorframe. His usual white t-shirt covered in fresh stains.

I didn't say anything. I was trying to read his mood before opening my mouth.

"I'm sorry about that in there." He gestured behind him.

I pressed my lips together but didn't say a word.

"Uhhh.. I know I'm a shit head for shouting at Syd the way I did." His head dropped.

He brought his hand up to his face and rubbed his eye, I could feel the exhaustion just by looking at him.

"You're going to have to apologize. We really need her." I murmured playing with the corner of the fold pages on my lap.

"Yea, I know. I fucked up" He whispered.

The kitchen doorway opened behind him and I saw a black curly hair behind Carmy.

"Goodnight Tina" I smiled

"Goodnight Boss" I heard back.

Carmy faced her and I could see half of her through the the doorway.

"All done?" He asked

She nodded giving a half smile.

"Everyone else gone home?"

"Yeah, you should both too. It's getting late" She pointed at the clock on the desk beside me.

1:30am. I swore it was 8:00pm a couple of hours ago.

She gave one more smile and gave Carmy a reassuring arm rub before leaving us.

I could feel the heaviness in my eyelids now that my body was aware of the time.

"I'm gonna head out" He looked back over at me.

I nodded pulling myself off the ground and bundling all the papers off the floor.

"Okay, well I'm going to check that everything is off and I'll be out in a min" I smiled.

We looked at each other for a moment. The heaviness I felt in my stomach when I realized how we got to this moment. The death of his brother, the immediate burden of this place on his shoulders and letting go of his old life.

I walked over closer to him and leaned into him. I wanted to give him a hug. I felt his arms wrap around me. The smell on onions off of him was stronger than usual. His skin burning hot. I could even feel it under his t-shirt. I was about to let go and felt him still holding the hug so I continue to hold him until I felt him lean back.

"Thank you" He whispered looking at me with his constant melancholy eyes.

He left the doorway and made his way to his locker.

I went back into the kitchen. The usual darkness except for the emergency exit lights. Giving the room a green hue. I ran my eyes over to check nothing was left out and everything was off.

I turned around and bumped into a body.

I let out a little yelp completely startled.

I looked up and saw Carmy looking down at me. Very close.

"Is everything okay?" I asked worryingly.

He nodded softly but never leaving my eyes.

My mind froze. I looked down at his lips. I felt him leaning into me. I couldn't stop myself if I tried. I brought my hands up to his chest. I wanted to taste him. I wanted to feel his lips against mine. His tongue against mine.

Our lips met. His were soft and warm. Our lips moved making the kiss deeper and deeper until I could taste him. Feel his mouth. His tongue gently caress mine. I relaxed into him, releasing a small moan in the back of my throat.

I felt him pull me in closer after that. He was hungry for me. That delicateness was fading away. I brought my hand down to his crotch to feel his hard bulge underneath. I heard his immediate appraisal from deep in his throat.

He pulled away, us both taking deep breaths.

He grabbed my hips and placed me on the steel surface urgently.

He looked at me his hands on my thighs but making their way further up. He paused for a moment.

I mouthed "Please". The heat coming from between my thighs was unbearable. Him looking at me that way made it worse.

A small smile appeared on his face, which made me more wet.

He hovered his hands over my clothed pussy before reaching up to unbutton my jeans. His nimble fingers popped them in a second. I glanced down at him to see him still looking at me.

He started slowly pulling down my pants, I raised my hips wanting to move this faster. He seemed to enjoy me begging at his mercy,

"Fuck" He leaned in his lips barely touching mine.

"I need this" He continued with his blue eyes taken over by lust.

The crack of a door was distant, pulling us out of our trance of neediness. We stayed still for a moment waiting for other sounds.

"Carmy, Y/n? You still here? I always forget my fucking phone." Tina voice travelled as she walked further into the restaurant.

We both snapped into gear. He pulled me fast off the counter and grabbed my hand. We raced to the walk in fridge. He closed the door gently behind us. We both stayed still try to listen for anything. But it was so insulated there, it was no use.

I looked down to see my jeans still unbuttoned. I looked up and redid them to see Carmy smiling with his hand in his hair.

"Close one" He whispered smiling back at me.

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[amhrosina]

The Way of the Water (Namor x Reader)

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A/N: Y'all thought I wouldn't immediately write a Namor fic as soon as I saw Wakanda Forever??? Anyways, this ended up being over 3k words lol enjoy! Also, I did my very best to translate from English to the Yucatec Maya language that Namor speaks. If I messed any translations up, please let me know! I will fix them asap if necessary.

Summary: You meet Namor on the beach one evening, and what follows is a whirlwind friendship that quickly develops into more, but what happens when the real world comes crashing down around you?

(Warnings: minor character death (off page), angst, grief, mutual pining, flashbacks??, allusions of smut, but no actual smut)

Translations:   

jats'uts lool – pretty flower  

in ch'ujuk – my sweet  

in yakunaj – my love  

Rain pelted the windows of your apartment, and the increasingly loud rumble of thunder reminded you of him. It always did. Even the sound of the shower running sent you spiraling into your memories of him. He had completely and irrevocably taken hold of you, and even though it had been over a year since you’d seen him last, you couldn’t shake the grasp he had on you, on your heart.  

You had always loved the water as a child; spent hours frolicking up and down the beach, playing a never-ending game of tag with the tide. As you got older, the games eventually evolved into hours of sitting in contemplation, watching the tide inch closer to you until it finally washed over your toes. By the time the brisk water found its way to you, you had figured out exactly what your next steps would be. There was never a problem you couldn’t solve by sitting near the waves, breathing with the sea.   

//  

The beach near your mother’s house is where you’d first met him. It was dusk, and a storm was brewing on the coast, so the beach was empty of tourists and surfers. It was just you and the waves, until it wasn’t.   

You watched as the water began to behave strangely, gently crawling up the beach towards you in an unnatural fashion. The tide was still hours away from being at its full height, and you struggled to make sense of it. Your mother’s voice was screaming at you in your head, telling you to run away from the beach and never look back, but as you stood, the water enveloped your feet, caressing your skin with so much gentleness that you were rooted to the spot.   

“Don’t be afraid, jats'uts lool.”  

His voice echoed in your head, taking over your body and soothing every fear building inside of you. It was a kiss to each eyelid, a brush across your cheek, a comforting hug around your waist. It echoed safety and warmth, and you felt your anxiety wash away as he breached the surface ahead of you.   

You took a step forward and faltered. His presence was God-like, but not scary, you decided. You could tell how much power he held just in the way he stepped onto the beach, covered in beautiful hand-carved makings. He stopped a few feet in front of you, watching you for any signs of fear, but you had none. Pure curiosity lit your face, and he couldn’t help but smile a little bit.   

“Hello.” You breathed, unable to take your eyes off the ethereal being in front of you. He was strong, yes, and likely very powerful, but he was also beautiful. You couldn’t move, still rooted to the spot on the beach.  

“Hello.” He responded. “I am K’uk’ulkan, but you may call me Namor, if it suits you.”   

There was a gleam in his eyes, one that you couldn’t read, but you continued to stare in awe at him.  

“Are you a God?” You asked, voice light and wispy. “My mother always warned me not to meddle with Gods, but you are not here to hurt me.”  

His smile grew into a wide grin at your comment about your mother, but he didn’t laugh.   

“I am a type of God, I suppose. I am not here to hurt you, but your mother is right, jats'uts lool. Meddling with the Gods is a foolish endeavor.”   

He turned to the sea and sat down in the sand, patting the space next to him.   

“Sit. I will tell you about my people, and you can decide if you want to continue playing with a God.”  

His voice allowed room for disagreement – he was giving you the choice to sit with him or leave – but you lurched forward to sit with him, the decision already made.   

“My people,” he started, searching the sea in front of you, “belong to the sea. As do I. We are a formidable presence, which is why we are still a secret from the world. Anyone who dares disturb my people learns rather quickly that we are not a force to be reckoned with. So, if I tell you this, jats'uts lool, you must not repeat it to anyone. Can you do that for me?”   

“Yes.” You breathed. Your body had subconsciously leaned towards him, drawn in by his melodic voice. “Why are you trusting me with this, K’uk-,” you struggled to pronounce the name he had given you but tried anyways. He turned to you, smiling as you tried again to say his name.   

“I have seen you here, sitting with the sea, many times before, even though you couldn’t see me. You are alone, jats'uts lool, sharing your secrets with the tide. That is why I trust you. Because you trust her.” He nodded towards the water.  

He began his tale, describing his journey to you with overwhelming passion. When he spoke about his mother, his eyes hardened, but softened when he looked back at you. You sat with him for hours, in awe of his story and his people. When he finished, he gazed at you in question, watching as you processed the information he had shared with you. Day had fallen to night long ago, but the dark felt trustworthy, like everything being spoken would be held within it for the rest of eternity.  

“This feels like a dream.” You finally said, shaking your head. “Am I dreaming?”   

“This is no dream, jats'uts lool. But I must return to my people tonight.”   

He stood, holding his hand out towards you. You rested your hand in his as he pulled you to your feet, refusing to let go, even though you were both balanced in the sand.   

“Will you come back?” You asked, searching his gaze.  

He brought his hand to your cheek, gently cupping your face. You leaned into his hold, breathing in the scent of salt and sea.   

“I will come back if that is what you wish, jats'uts lool.”   

“What does that mean?” You call after him as he makes his way back into the sea.   

“I will tell you when I see you again.” He smiled as the sea washed over him, pulling him down into the dark depths of it and out of your sight. You watched the sea for a few minutes, trying to convince yourself that he wasn’t a figment of your imagination, and then finally turned and headed back to your mother’s house.   

//  

A loud clash of thunder brought you back into the present, in your apartment where you had lost yourself, yet again, in thoughts of him. It had been like this since that first night with him, and only got worse after every visit. Your heart panged with guilt over leaving the coast without saying goodbye to him, but you had to go, had to get away from the town that had taken everything from you, and he hadn’t come on the night you needed him most. The storm would leave eventually, but he would stay with you forever.  

It had been almost a full year since you’d left your small coastal town, and you eyed your car keys as the desire to return overwhelmed you. It was only a few hours away, still close enough to be reached by car, but not so close that you would be reminded of your childhood at every hour of the day. Before you could convince yourself it was a bad idea, you grabbed your car keys and bolted out the door.  

//  

Namor visited again two weeks after the first night. You were sitting on the beach one night, later than you usually stayed, half-convinced that you had made him up, when the ocean began to stir. Your heart leaped into your throat as he made his way out of the water.   

You met him halfway up the beach, enveloping him in your arms. The sudden reminder that he was a literal God, and that hugging him probably broke all kinds of rules, had you stiffening against him. The thought quickly washed away as he wrapped his arms around you, tightening your body against his. He was unexpectedly warm, even though the sea was cold, and your skin broke out in goose bumps where it touched his.   

“You are real.” You mumbled into his skin.   

He chuckled, leaning his head back to look at you.   

“I am real, jats'uts lool.”   

This is how every reunion went. You’d hug him, he’d swing you around in the sand, and you’d spend hours talking about everything. He told you about his home, a place you dreamed about. You told him about your childhood, how alone you had been for most of your life and how he was probably your only true friend, even though he was a literal God. He talked about bringing the sun to his people, and you were so overwhelmed with something in your heart that you had to remind yourself that God’s don’t love humans the way humans love Gods.   

One night, he finally asked you what he’d been wondering about all along as you both sat in the sand, watching the tide make its way up the beach.   

“Why do you spend so much time alone, jats'uts lool? You speak of your mother, but I never see her here with you.”  

“I’m waiting for you, Namor.” You tried to brush his question off by flattering him, but he had never been stupid, and you sighed as he refused to let it go.   

“No, even before you knew of my existence, you would spend many hours here. Don’t think I haven’t seen you crying. What bothers you, jats'uts lool?”  

You couldn’t fight the tears welling up in your eyes. Namor waited patiently as you worked up the courage to respond.   

“It’s my mom.” You finally murmured, roughly wiping the tears from your cheeks. “She’s sick, Namor, and I can’t do anything to stop it. The doctors say it’s terminal. All there is to do is wait, now, for the inevitable. She will die, and I will truly be alone.”   

Namor watched you, carefully constructing his response. You couldn’t look at him as you tried and failed to stop the tears flowing down your face. He gently grasped your chin, tilting your head to look at him.  

“I am sorry, in ch'ujuk, for your sorrow. I understand the grief of losing one’s mother. It never leaves you, and for that, I’m sorry. But you will never be alone, jats'uts lool. You will have me.”  

He leaned in, planting two soft kisses on your eyelids and wiping away the tears from your cheeks. You couldn’t stop yourself from capturing his lips with your own. You didn’t think about the consequences, or how many rules you were definitely breaking by doing it. He didn’t seem to mind, though. He grasped your waist, roughly pulling your body towards his.   

He laid back on the sand, pulling you on top of him as his tongue explored every inch of your mouth. You rested your knees on either side of his waist, grinding into him. His hands couldn’t figure out where to rest, running up and down your body, cupping your head, and squeezing your thighs as you grinded into him again.   

The previous conversation finally caught up to his thoughts, and he gently pushed your body a few inches away from his. Your lust slowly warped into confusion at his abrupt stoppage.   

“Not tonight, in ch'ujuk, when you are vulnerable and sad.” He closed his eyes, tightening his hold on your waist. “When I take you, I want it to be because you want it, not because you are sad and in need of comfort.”   

“I’m not-,” the look he sent you buried any attempt of continuing what had transpired. Namor was right, and you couldn’t deny his assumption that you needed comfort more than anything.  

You sighed, resting your head on his chest. He held you tightly as another round of tears engulfed you, racking your body with ugly and guttural sobs.   

“It will all be okay, in ch'ujuk. You will always have me.” He murmured, running his hand over your hair in a soothing gesture.   

When it was time to part ways, you walked him into the water, clutching his hand in yours. The tide, usually violent by this time of the night, was peaceful around you. It always was, nowadays. He cradled your face, kissing your nose lightly.   

“I have something for you.” He murmured, gently grabbing your hand. He began to tie what was probably the most beautiful piece of jewelry you had ever seen around your wrist. “It was my mother's, and now it is yours. It is a beacon of strength and persistence. My people wouldn’t exist without it. Whenever you are feeling weak, let it guide you towards peace.”  

A wave of emotions overwhelmed you, and you couldn’t breathe. The significance of him gifting you something so special to him was so incredibly generous that you couldn’t stop yourself from crashing your lips into his. He kissed you in sweet, unhurried motions, letting you push every emotion you were feeling onto him. He would take all the hurt away if he could. Carry it on his shoulders so that you could breathe easier. It wasn’t just a connection with you, it would always be something more, something galactic, something intangible but never missing from his being.   

When he finally slid back into the water, you clutched the braceleted wrist to your chest and swore to never let go of it.  

//  

The sight of the sea after so long calmed your nerves, as it always did. You had parked in front of the house that had belonged to your mother for so many years and headed towards the beach where it had all started. The house belonged to you now, but you hadn’t stepped foot in it since the awful night that had sent you scurrying for dry land, far away from the world you’d grown comfortable in.  

When you stepped onto the beach, your nerves resumed their anxious drumming. The last time you’d been here, you had been so angry at the world, so incredibly grief-stricken and so sad. Your mother had gotten pneumonia, a curse that had taken many sick people before her, but you were convinced she would pull through. When she didn’t, and you had to watch as EMT’s rolled her body out on a stretcher, you had stormed to the beach, intent on burning the world around you.  

You had called to Namor, begging him to take you away from here. You prayed and cursed and screamed, pounding at the sand with your fists, but he didn’t come. You sat with the anger until it finally warped into an incredible sadness, swallowing you whole. When dawn finally cusped the horizon, and you had finally accepted that he wasn’t coming, you had turned from the beach, climbed into your car, and driven far away. You hadn’t come back, until now.   

The storm had followed you back to the coast, where it was brewing something heavy in the skies above you. A light rain had drenched through your clothes on your walk from your house to the beach. It was dangerous to be so close to the water when the skies looked like this, but you didn’t care anymore. You needed to be with the sea, with him, even if he hated you for leaving.   

You sat on the beach, watching as the rain grew heavier around you. The tide was violent and angry, whirling and crashing hard onto the sand in front of you. That’s fine. You shrugged. Let it be angry with you.   

A stirring in the sea had you bolting to your feet, running towards the turbulent water. Namor stalked onto the beach, head swiveling back and forth until he saw you. You couldn’t help the sobs coming from your chest. You fell to your knees in front of him, clutching the bracelet you had never removed from your wrist to your chest.  

“Namor.” You mumbled, voice strangled and weak. “Please forgive me.” You sobbed into your hands, dropping your head. You couldn’t look at him, but you would accept anything he gave you, even if it was anger.   

You felt his presence before you felt his touch. He slowly wrapped his hands around your wrists, gently pulling your hands away from your face. He was kneeling in front of you, concern written on his face.  

“In yakunaj, where have you been? The sea has been missing your presence for a year now. Why did you leave? Why did you go somewhere I couldn’t follow? Why did you hide from me?”  

“Namor,” you breathed, voice breaking. “My mom. She-”   

You couldn’t say it. You hadn’t been able to since that fateful night a year ago. But Namor knew, sympathetic expression dawning on his face as you spoke.   

“Oh, my love.” He murmured, pulling you into his chest. You wound your arms around his neck, holding him tightly. You squeezed your eyes shut, relishing his warmth. “I am sorry you have been dealing with this alone. The sea called to me, told me you were hurt and angry, but I was far away, and by the time I got here, you had left. I’ve come every night since, but the sea no longer held your presence. I could not find you, in yakunaj.”  

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled into his skin. “I’m sorry for leaving. I've hated myself since I left, but I couldn’t face what I’d left behind.”  

“Do not apologize for your grief, in ch'ujuk. I am glad you are here. I am glad you are safe. I’m sorry I could not protect you from this.”  

You pressed your lips against his, something you’d dreamt about doing every night since you’d left. After all this time apart, you finally felt like you could breathe again. He was here, and he didn’t hate you.   

“In yakunaj, my people have been working on a way for me to bring you home with me, so we can rule the seas together. It could be your home, with me. Is that something you would want?”   

You gasped at his proposal, mind whirring. “Do you mean it, Namor?” You murmured, searching his eyes for false promises.   

“Of course, jats'uts lool. They took notice of my absences after we met, and I could not lie about falling in love with a human from the surface. Some were weary, understandably so, but the sea whispered to them about your gentle heart, and the sea does not lie. They have already begun constructing a throne for you.”  

“Take me home, Namor. Your home.” You whispered, heart aching at the thought of Namor telling his people about you, at the thought of them accepting his love for you.   

“I love you, in ch'ujuk.” He murmured, capturing your lips with his.   

“I love you, my king.” You responded against his lips.   

The surface world had never really felt like home to you. The sea had been your home long before Namor had stepped onto the beach that fateful evening so long ago, but now it beckoned you into its warmth. It called to you, and you would be a fool to ignore it. Yes, meddling with Gods was a foolish endeavor, but Namor was your home, and there wasn’t a chance in the world of you turning away from him now. You took a step into the water.   

Home.   

Tag List:

@alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen

This is my first Namor fic, so I'm only tagging those who asked to be tagged in every Marvel fic I post. If you'd like to join Namor's taglist or you want to alter your form, click here <3.

#namor #namor mcu #namor black panther #namor x reader #namor x you #namor x oc #k’uk’ulkan #tenoch huerta #black panther 2 #black panther #marvel fanfiction #namor imagine #namor fanfiction #tenoch huerta x reader #tenoch huerta x you #namor fic #namor fluff #marvel #marvel imagine #black panther fic #namor angst

[yourlocaltoad]

Assets used for Whirlwinds's Character page (skylanders.com, 2011)

#not art #skylanders #skylanders website #skylanders spyro's adventure #whirlwind #skylanders whirlwind #whirlwind website #whirlwind character page

[physalian]

Take A Risk and Don’t Write a Chosen One

This trope stands the test of time for some very good reasons: Audience wish-fulfillment as they live vicariously through the hero, automatic plot-induced agency for your protagonist, and automatic legitimate reasons for your protagonist to join the whirlwind adventure of the day.

I like chosen ones. We all have our favorite famous chosen ones and I’m not here to say the concept of a chosen one is bad at all.

However.

Those “automatic” windfalls that come pre-packaged with the trope can lead to the author taking shortcuts, or not thinking they have to put in more effort to write a compelling character, because they’re the “chosen one,” what more do you need?

Not writing your protagonist as commanded by the powers that be to participate in the plot forces you to get creative with why they’re here, what they want, and how they entrench themselves in the story. And most importantly, if the gods haven’t chosen them to act, they must now choose themselves to act.

—

I have never read Harry Potter and after its author-who-shan’t-be-named flushed her reputation down the toilet, I never will. I’ve seen the movies, they’re ok. I have no nostalgia-driven love for this franchise, and most of that comes from watching Harry be an incredibly boring protagonist.

Book readers correct me, but Harry is the poster child of “only exists so the audience can live vicariously” with generic heroic traits and nonexistent or at least unimportant side quirks and distinguishing hobbies, interests, or personality tics. He’s “brave” and “courageous” and “determined”... as most child protagonists of children’s books should be. He has zero flaws that come back to bite him in the ass. He acts the way he’s supposed to, not the way he should want to, as an independent being.

He’s the least interesting character in this entire cast, and I can’t stand Movie Ron. Ron, Hermione, Neville, or Draco would have made much more compelling protagonists and so much of this relies on the “Harry is important because the plot demands it” crutch.

Why is he the chosen one? Because his birthday happened at the right time of year? What is the story trying to say about the dichotomy between him and Voldemort? What about his personality, his wizard-societal stances on the many faux pas in this series, or the choices he makes, that makes him the chosen one? Why should I care?

You know who’s a great chosen one? Percy Jackson. Why? Because he understands the screwed up world he lives in on page 1. Being a demigod isn’t everything he ever dreamed and despite what Disney + wants you to believe, he’s got a crap bio dad who’s as disappointing in book one as Percy expects him to be.

He’s not even the chosen one by the end of the original series, and what a fantastic twist that was.

An infamously self-chosen protagonist has her own iconic hero quote: "I volunteer as tribute". Katniss is a nobody. She's not the evil president's daughter, she's not the child of a famously martyred revolutionary, she's just a girl who refuses to bow down to the reaping, refuses to let her sister get slaughtered, and volunteers for a death match that historically sees anyone living to survive another year cowering in relief. Yeah, she has some convenient skills in her archery and survival knowledge, but those matter because her district is starving, she learned through necessity.

Every second of her story, Katniss is fighting for her right to exist, and she only becomes a "chosen one" dragged around by the powers that be when she becomes marketable to the grand scheming of the actual revolutionaries, when, before, she didn't care about politics, she just wanted to save her sister. She matters because she chose compassion in a world where survival demands only serving yourself.

—

It’s so, so easy to start planning your book and make your cool fantasy world and figure out how your protagonist fits into it. So easy to say “well they’re the long-lost princess and the only heir to the throne” or “this magic amulet from her great great aunt is the key to saving the world” or “she’s the villain’s secret love child and the only one who can stop him because blood magic” or “this vague prophecy picked this little desert slave boy to bring balance to the Force”.

None of these stories are at fault for writing chosen ones.

But push yourself to let go of that crutch and come up with other reasons for why your hero is the hero. Usually this character has been isekai'd into magical-fantasy-land or magical-hidden-fantasy-urban-underbelly and you can still write that character.

Refusing to make them the chosen one demands one thing first and foremost: How is this outsider going to fight for their place to exist here? What do they bring to the table with their hobbies or interests or unique skillset that happens to be mighty applicable and useful in this new world? What is it about their personality that draws these strangers in? What do they want from this new world, and what are they willing to do to get it?

This choice demands you give your hero agency (though whether you give into those demands is up to you).

More importantly: I think it gives your audience agency, as they still live vicariously through their hero. Sure, lots of kids have lost their parents and live in horrid conditions like a cupboard under the stairs, but none of us will ever be “chosen” by omniscient wizard prophets. Harry would have immediately been a more compelling protagonist to me if he’d stumbled upon magical shenaniganry and fought for his place as some forgotten nobody mudblood.

Harry would have shown us his courage, instead of the story insisting he has it, we promise, just don’t think too hard about it.

Stop giving me characters who accept their destiny because God said so. Give me characters who fight tooth and nail for a destiny they discover on their own and I’ll root for them to succeed even more than someone compelled by force. Not everyone can be a chosen one, but everyone *can* choose themselves and decide to act.

—

With that said, I have an announcement! I have a new book in the works bereft of a prophecy-ordained hero. It’s time I put all my sagely writing wisdom to the test in a shiny published paperback myself. If you’ve learned anything from my blog in your writing journey, please subscribe for updates on the upcoming novel!

#chosen ones #character design #writing advice #character development #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #fantasy #urban fantasy #scifi #harry potter #percy jackson #katniss everdeen #the hunger games

[tackletofset]

If I had to choose one word to describe "Dark Heir," it would be 'OTHERWORLDLY.'

[There will be NO SPOILERS in this Review, only vague hints]

“Critiquing the idea of a classic hero and a reclaiming of the queer villain”

These words are written under the blurb of the very ARC. Sadly, most people are still missing the point.

Dark Rise is my true love in the form of a book series. 

As a queer person who grew up sympathizing with villains (who are often queer-coded), this book series undoubtedly serves as a great form of escapism. I feel seen and understood. I found a home here.

Reading Dark Heir was a surreal experience, almost like a sudden storm hitting me all at once. It was like being pulled into a whirlwind. It is everything I could ever wish for!!!

I devoured this book in just TWO DAYS, which is unexpected given my typically SLOW reading pace. It's worth noting that Dark Heir is considerably longer than Dark Rise (with Dark Rise comprising 34 chapters and Dark Heir containing 51). It is also fueled by my eagerness to continue the story after a two-year wait, particularly following that cliffhanger!

Will has always been my favourite character since "Dark Rise," and this sequel only amplifies it. I perceive his struggles with the truth of his identity, as a metaphor for internalized queerphobia. Many queer youth, including myself, have been told that our queerness is evil and abhorrent, leading us to hide and deny our true selves in the pursuit of acceptance from others. Will's yearning for his friends' acceptance, especially from Violet, his best friend.

Many of us would be delighted to see that James has POV chapters in this book! It's great to see his perspective on not only his feelings about Will or Sarcean but also about his family history.

I'm equally excited about introducing the new character, Visander, and I'm thrilled that he can be interpreted as trans. Knowing that CS Pacat identifies as genderqueer/non-binary, I would like to see him writing more trans-coded characters. Visander is a character who fascinates me, as there are times when he can be both lovable and yet totally frustrates me.

Praise Pacat (again), who has been so generous to give us the “Surprise POVs” which made me scream and jump up and down at 2 a.m.

I seriously love the parts where we got to explore more of the Old World. The twists within them are both surprising and, in a way, expected. I've always held the belief that history was written by the victors, and as a result, the truth about the Dark King and the Betrayer was also lost in time. It was also very gratifying to see that the characters that were once hailed as the paragons of virtue were not so saint-like after all.

I hate classic heroes. I despise them and I won't even try to hide it.

Doubtlessly, the Old World chapters are my favourites. And I yearn to have even more of them in Book 3 because I want to know more details about how Sarcean came to power- and his downfall, and the full truth about his relationship with Anharion! I wouldn't mind the book stretching to 60+ chapters to accommodate it.

Pacat has indeed delivered on his promises to infuse this sequel with even more "on-page gay" content, so readers need not fret about the shortage of romance. They are plentiful, to say the least.

Now, returning to my initial point:

!!!Dark Rise is not a story about escaping an abusive male partner!!!

While numerous stories tackle this theme, and it is worth telling, this is not one of them.

This is a story about queer people reclaiming their identities. It speaks to those who have been vilified, demonized, alienated, and even disowned from a young age by the very individuals who should have shielded them—their parents and guardians.

They are continuously taught that their queerness is immoral, abhorrent, and despicable, leading them to believe they must conceal and deny their true selves, often feeling as though they are harbingers of evil and thus destined for condemnation. It sheds light on how queer youths grapple with internalized queerphobia due to an environment that refuses to accept them for who they are.

The accusations hurled at the "villainous figures" within this story mirror the stigma that the bigoted society frequently directs at queer individuals: that we’re lewd, vulgar degenerates, disease-spreaders and a danger to children. 

Dark Rise and Dark Heir underscores our society’s twisted morality that the only available paths for queer individuals are either to deny their queerness or face the gravest consequences. In other words: be converted or unalived.

For those of us who have been demonized and alienated by the people who were supposed to protect us—we are not evil. We do not deserve the abuse directed at us, and it is not our fault. There is nothing wrong with us. We deserve happiness, love, safety, and acceptance.

We should all be unapologetic and unafraid of our true selves, like James.

And oH MY GOD. THAT ENDING!!! You think the prologue was crazy??? You wouldn’t LIVE to see that ending.

I have fantasized about *that* final line before, but I thought it was cheesy and that it might be something more like Prince Gambit's "The King! Damianos! He lives!" but it was not like that at all 🤣🤣🤣

It's my dream cheesy line 💜💜💜

#dark rise #dark heir #cs pacat #will kempen #james st clair #sarcean #anharion #violet ballard #cyprian #visander #captive prince #laurent of vere #damianos of akielos #dr theory #mine

[sonder-paradise]

𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐢 — 𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮 𝐃𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐢

◊ ft. osamu dazai, gn!reader

◊ genre. experimental lol, comfort(?)

◊ a/n. this is a dialogue piece i did during a workshop class. the prompt was to write a dialogue with subtext. (so there's meaning behind what the characters are saying)

Dazai speaks in a rather fluid tone. There are moments when you find his voice to be just as horrible as a chalk screeching against the roughness of a blackboard. But then there are times when he speaks to just you and you alone.

And I don’t mean the conversation he has with you about the paperwork that’s due next week or the invitation to go drinking after work.

But the sort of conversation that has him opening his heart with a fickle key and offering you a piece. When it’s that type of dialogue, you can’t help but hear the way he speaks in such a soft, vulnerable tone. 

His voice dims to a whisper and he converses with a fragility you did not realize the man had. But there it is and there he goes, whispering words of lost relations and dark pasts that have your head reeling at the tragedy and wonderment of this man’s life. 

“Why do you always read that particular book?” 

The question spills from your lips as the man pauses his concentration to look up at you. The little red book sits patiently in his hands and he looks back at it briefly as if trying to find the answer in the pages itself. 

“To learn how to die, of course.”

“What’s the point of that?” 

“What’s the point of living?” 

You have to admit he has a point. As silly as his response seems, there’s truth in the matter. Life and Death, while hand-in-hand, have a sort of fluid relationship that never seems to intermingle as beautifully as the concepts separately. 

“I think life is beautiful.”

Dazai smiles, “I think the same about death.”

You blinked at him. The way he said it had your stomach in somewhat of a whirlwind. There was something so pure and innocent about the statement. 

“What do you like about death?” 

“Many things. I find death to be courageous. It represents a part of humanity that means that despite what life gives us, death will always be there. Is that not comforting?” 

“I suppose so.” You mulled over your thoughts. 

“What do you find so wonderful about life?”

“Life is entertaining. It’s infuriating at times, but I suppose it’s like death, I know that it’ll be there even if one day it may leave.”

Dazai’s eyes widen. 

“I’m glad we think similarly…”

A quiet silence trickles in as you stare at him with an odd expression. You quite read the look in his eyes. There’s fondness, and what you hope is admiration. But, Dazai’s a bit confounding to read. So you find yourself leaning back and contemplating his words. 

“Do you think Life and Death aren’t meant to be?”

Dazai seems slightly surprised at your comment. He appears to think over it, gazing up at the empty ceiling above. Then, he shifts over to you.

“I think they’re both fond of each other. I mean, why else would they work so perfectly with one another?”

You laugh, throwing your head back. 

“I don’t know about ‘perfectly.’ I’d say Life can be a bit troublesome in comparison to Death.” 

And there it is: That wondrously serendipitous tone that has your head reeling. It’s gentle and plush, cushioning your heart with this falsity of comfort. 

His voice seeps honey and molasses. 

“Still, there can be no Life without Death. That’s why we need Death.”

Dazai leans in close. His eyes pool with a sticky, fly-trapping mixture of brown sugar and lemonade. There’s something so confident and heart-stopping about the way his arm loops around your waist. Or the way his hand trails up your back and his fingers trace your skin.

“That’s why I need it anyways.”

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#[🖋] writing #osamu dazai x reader #dazai x y/n #dazai x reader #osamu dazai #dazai fluff #dazai comfort #dazai x you #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bsd dazai x reader #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai x gn!reader #osamu dazai x you

[trulybetty]

oct x 11 - pumpkin spice

Prompt: pumpkin spice Pairing: marcus pike x f!Reader Word Count: 3,366 Warnings: this is somewhat au? I don't know how to describe it - but honestly, outside the mentions of food, just introductions to our characters 💕 Summary: maplewood, a small town nestled in northern bc where people flock to see the changing blossom trees and celebrate the fall season. after losing your job you find yourself a part of the community which includes the towns baker who left a less than stellar impression on you. AO3: Linked

A/N: this is a departure for me, this is going to be all sickly sweet and sticky sweetness - made a teeny tiny dash of angst? This will be told in three parts through the month, no promise on when the next part will be posted - but keep an eye out. Please let me know what you think, I'd love to hear it!

x. masterlist

Something Sweet, This Way Comes Part I | Pumpkin Spice

Maplewood was a small town nestled deep in the heart of British Columbia Canada, the crisp autumn air brought a sense of enchantment. The maple leaves painted the streets with vibrant shades of red and orange, and the town buzzed with anticipation for Halloween.

At the hub of it all was Maple Delights, a mainstay of the small town that had changed owners only three years ago. Before that Marcus Pike had left the FBI’s art division on the heels of lost love and disillusions for the career he once loved. Everyone always assumed he was a dab hand with creative pursuits when he would tell them he worked in the bureaus art department. And while he had studied art at college, it had been in art history. Truth was he couldn’t paint anything worth posting further than the front of the fridge, but baking on the other hand, was a hidden talent he’d always exceeded in.

So when a late night social media scroll after handing in his notice brought him to an article on the small town of Maplewood being a hidden gem in the Northern Canadian mountains. Over the following days he’d drifted back to the article several times before a Google search brought him to the small town’s website.

Then it wasn’t too much of a stretch to click on the link for the modest page of properties both for sale and rent, curiosity baiting him, only to find the town’s historic bakery up for sale.

Dashing any thoughts out of his head he’d closed his laptop with a shake of his head, it was an absurd idea. He was an early retiree of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, he had no business entertaining the idea of purchasing a bakery, let alone one in seemingly the middle of nowhere Canada.

But between the calls from friends and family checking in on him with the news of his departure from the job he once dearly loved and the end of the whirlwind romance that he’d thought was the one, he found himself late each night scrolling mindlessly, glass of wine in one hand, phone in the other, back looking at the town of Maplewood.

He did have a sizable nest egg, he owned his apartment which was now in what was considered a trendy part of town and worth a lot more than when he first purchased it.

He wasn’t entirely sure what possessed him two nights later to email the town's realtor, but within the month he was the proud owner of Maple Delights and all its contents and was packing up the contents of his modest apartment and heading north.

The previous owner had passed, with adult grandchildren who lived far away in various places across the country, and who had no interest in a historic bakery in the middle of nowhere; it had been left with no choice to go up for sale by the estate.

It had taken some modernization, not so easy a feat in the far north of BC where the local hardware store was a mom and pops situation and the nearest Home Depot was three hours away, but Marcus had made it work with help from a local contractor who’d enjoyed the challenge.

The facade had undergone a drastic change too, much to the chagrin of some locals. But when it was revealed to be a homage to its original exterior, when it was first opened, there had been actual tears at the results.

The front of the store was made up of a large window and wooden framing. In cursive the bakeries name was painted across the glass. At the front were planters at the wooden windowsill, filled with roses of various shades of pinks and whites. The climbing ivy had been stripped away to allow the brick underneath to stand out, making the white frames pop all the more.

It truly was a delight to see.

Surprisingly it didn’t take long after that for Marcus to win over the town. With his natural ability for baking and his charm, he won over any naysayers to the outsider in their town quite quickly and was soon a beloved member of the community.

Your journey to Maplewood however, was nearly not as charming.

It was a gloomy Tuesday morning when you received the email that would change the course of your life. As you sipped your coffee and stared at the screen, disbelief washed over you. The subject line was blunt and to the point: ‘Termination of Employment.’

You opened the email and read the cold, corporate language that informed you of the company's decision to downsize. Your position had been eliminated, effective immediately. There was no room for negotiation, no farewell party, just a stark message informing you that your services were no longer required.

You had worked at the job for who knows how long, because it felt like forever.

In the days that followed, you wrestled with the uncertainty of your future. You tried reaching out to your network, searching for new job opportunities in Toronto, but the job market was tough, and the competition was fierce. The bills kept piling up, and you felt the weight of financial insecurity pressing down on you.

It was one of those nights where you were texting with your friend Libby, a long time resident of Maplewood after she gave up the rat race to open a bookstore in the small town years ago. That she extended an offer that was too sweet to refuse. End your rental agreement and come up north and spend some time in the great outdoors and figure out what you want to do next.

With no other choices coming your way, you did just that.

That was three months ago.

As the days passed, you found yourself slowly adjusting to the laid-back lifestyle of Maplewood. Gone were the stresses of city life and the constant pressure to perform at your job. Instead, you spent your mornings sipping coffee in Libby's apartment above the bookstore and spent the rest of your day either helping out in the store or taking a stroll around town to take in all the unique sights that Maplewood had to offer.

Black Cat Books was wall to ceiling bookshelves and every manageable space was filled with books. It was a labyrinth, but Libby could stride through it like she was born into its midst. But ask Libby where any particular title resided? You'd find that she knew exactly how many steps it took to get there.  

Libby placed another book on the shelf behind her, “He’s really not all that bad.”

You sneered, “I don’t know why this whole town is obsessed with him.”

“Says the woman who is watching him from across the street and has been for the last hour.” Libby remarked, punctuated by a disbelieving look over the top of her glasses.

“I can’t help if the bakery is straight across the street,” she raised an equally disbelieving eyebrow at you, she didn't believe a word you were saying “and it’s his bakery, of course he’d be there.” you finished, crossing your arms across your chest refusing to make eye contact.

“Sure,” she dragged out her response, “whatever you say.”

You had been in Maplewood for a week when you'd run into Marcus, quite literally run into him. Crossing the main square, you may not have been paying attention, focusing on refreshing your email for leads on work as he had been stepping up onto the sidewalk, his arms full of bakery boxes obscuring his view.

“Watch where you're going much?!” You'd exclaimed, hands on your hips and glaring at him.

He'd looked up from the ground, his hands filled with ruined boxes, eyes narrowed. “Me? How could you miss me?”

“Well if you had been watching where you were going.” You countered.

He was about to launch into another tirade when he glanced at his watch. Stifling a curse he ran a hand through his hair before speaking, his voice low and gruff. “I haven't got time for this.”

With that he quickly gathered the last of the boxes and stomped off in the direction of the bakery. Your first encounter with the town's beloved baker had left nothing but a sour taste in your mouth.

Since then, you'd avoided any and all interactions with the man and fought rolling your eyes when people would speak so highly of the American who had made Maplewood his home. After all, he was the one responsible for bringing more business to Maplewood through word-of-mouth of his creations.

“Look,” Libby pointed at the sandwich board propped outside the shop, “today’s special is pumpkin spice scones, how about you go get us some and a couple of coffees?” she suggested as she pulled some money from her purse she kept under the counter.

You rolled your eyes but still took the money, guy was questionable, but his scones were to die for. Not that you would admit it to anyone.

A quick look both ways you dashed across the street. It was the start of October, a busy month for the town. Tourists would flock in to see the changing colours of the cherry blossom trees that lined both sides of the main street that led up to the town's main square outside city hall.

The weather was getting colder, and even though it was literally steps from Black Cat Books, you'd wished you'd grabbed your toque and scarf. But before you could think more about it you were outside the bakery.

The window took up most of the front of the store, vintage lettering spelling out the bakery's name Maple Delights painted across the pane. The roses that usually filled the planter boxes outside were filled with an abundance of pumpkins of various colours and sizes. Halloween decorations filled the spaces between cake stands and trays of seasonal goods punctuated by decadent cakes decorated with tiny ghosts and ghouls.

The shop bell rang as you opened the door, the bakery was cozy and inviting with its high ceilings and hardwood floors. The smell of freshly baked bread and sugar, mingled with the spiciness of cinnamon and pumpkin spice – classic scents of fall that permeated the air making your mouth water.

A bright eyed Sarah, with a book open in front of her behind the counter called out your name, “Hey there! What can I get for you today?”

You smiled and made your way to the counter eyeing the vintage blackboard that took up most of the wall behind it. The chalk sketch confirmed that today's special was pumpkin scones, “I'll take two pumpkin spice scones and two lattes, extra hot please.”

Sarah nodded as she began preparing the order. She had been working at the bakery after school and the weekends since she turned sixteen at the start of the summer. You knew this because she got paid every Friday and would dart straight across to Black Cat Books to pick a new book bringing with her treats from the bakery.

“You should try the apple cider doughnuts!” she exclaimed as she boxed up two large scones.

“That so?” You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her recommendation.

“Uh huh,” Sarah replied with a grin, “Marcus dipped them in a cinnamon maple glaze this time,” she added with a little groan of appreciation, “they're so good, and there's only just a few left.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously as if she were tempting you.

You couldn't help but smile at her infectious enthusiasm. “Well, with that kind of endorsement, why not. Throw a couple in too.”

As you waited for your order and made small talk with Sarah, you took a moment to look around the store. It was late afternoon, and the warm, soft glow of the autumn sun streamed through the window, casting a gentle light on the displays. The shelves, while not as full as they might be in the morning, still held an array of intricate desserts. More decorations of fake cobwebs, pumpkins, and ghosts adorned the shelves and countertops, adding to the bakery's seasonal charm.

In the background, the back of the bakery was open to the kitchen out back. The stainless steel counters gleamed in the soft light, and the usual cacophony of mixers that lined the back wall was silent for the moment. It was a rare sight, given the bakery's reputation for bustling activity, especially in the weeks leading up to Halloween.

Just then, a door swung open at the back, and Marcus emerged, his presence commanding attention. He was dressed in a deep orange flannel shirt, which seemed to accentuate the rich colors of the fall season. His tousled curled hair always gave the impression that he had just woken up from a nap, yet it added an effortlessly charming quality to his appearance. His patchy facial hair, seemingly ever-present, only added to his rugged charm.

You couldn't help but curse silently under your breath. Despite having no time for the man, there was no denying he was just as attractive as the sweet treats he created. It seemed as though every time you crossed paths, he had a knack for appearing more alluring.

“Hey Sarah,” he greeted the teen, “I can finish this up for you, I don't want you to miss the committee meeting for the trick or treat parade.” he said, referencing the penultimate celebration of the town's October celebrations.

Sarah's face lit up as she started to untie her apron, “Thanks, Marcus. You're a lifesaver.”

As Marcus took over your order, Sarah excused herself, heading towards the exit. Her parting words were aimed at both you and Marcus. “See you later!”

With Sarah's departure, an awkward silence settled between you and Marcus. The air seemed to crackle with the unspoken tension that had been building for weeks.

“Looks like you're stuck with me for a while,” Marcus remarked, breaking the silence with a wry smile. His tone was light, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, an undercurrent of amusement at the situation.

You nodded in reluctant agreement, realizing that there was no escape from this moment. “Seems that way,” you replied.

Marcus busied himself with finishing up your order, his hands deftly manoeuvring around cups and saucers. He poured the lattes into to-go cups before adding the last dollop of whipped cream to a pumpkin spice latte. The warm, spicy scent filled the air, mixing with the sweet aroma of freshly baked goods.

As he reached out to pass you the tray of drinks and the bag filled with baked treats, your hands brushed against each other. Time seemed to slow, the atmosphere tingling with a spark that neither of you had felt before. It was a fleeting touch, but it was enough to send a shiver down your spine, making you suddenly aware of the space between you.

Marcus cleared his throat. “I, uh, put a cranberry muffin in there. For Libby. I know they're her favourite.”

You blinked, a little thrown off by the unexpected kindness. “That's very thoughtful of you.” You reached for your purse, ready to pay for the order, “How much is it?” you asked, but Marcus waved you off.

Marcus shook his head, grinning slightly. “It's on the house. Consider it a thank-you to Libby for watching the store the other week.”

“Thank you,” you finally said, struggling to find the right words. “That's... that's very kind of you.”

Marcus shrugged, his gaze meeting yours for just a second longer than necessary. “It's what neighbours do, right?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I suppose it is.”

The bell above the door jingled, breaking the moment as more customers entered the bakery, kids trailing behind their parents, all excited for Halloween goodies. You picked up the tray and bag, suddenly aware that you had to leave, but not quite ready to break the newfound connection.

“I'll see you around?” Marcus asked, with maybe a note of hopeful uncertainty in his voice, you weren’t sure.

You smiled despite yourself, “Maybe,” you replied as you raised your now full hands in an attempt at a wave.

Marcus was about to answer when the bakery's new patrons diverted his attention and you took the opportunity to leave, your head suddenly full of conflicting feelings for the man.

Exiting out onto the street, you couldn't help but inhale deeply, letting the crisp, early October air fill your lungs in hope it would clear your head. The town's signature cherry blossom trees that lined each side of the street had traded their springtime pinks for shades of orange and yellow, a change of costume in tune with the season.

Libby looked up from the book she was reading when you stepped back into the store, “You were longer than I expected.”

You felt an unexpected heat spread up your chest to your cheeks, “Sarah was working,” you quickly threw out, “she was telling me about the book she got last week.”

Libby accepted the coffees and paper bag so you could shrug off your coat, “Ooo, cranberry muffin! My favourite!”

“Yeah, Marcus threw it in there for you.”

“So you spoke to Marcus?” she asked, an eyebrow raised in curiosity, an unmissable smirk on her face.

You narrowed your eyes in response, “Briefly.”

Libby took a bite of her scone, the noises she made boarded on the line of scandalous, “God, this is good.”

“Should I leave you and your scone alone?”

Libby grinned, crumbs of scone still clinging to the corners of her mouth. “If you leave me now, I'll name my first-born after this scone. It'll have a weird life, but at least it'll be delicious.”

You chuckled at her melodrama as you took your coffee out of its tray.

Libby grinned, “I swear to god, if I was remotely interested in men I'd be climbing him like a tree. Heck, I might just do it for the baked goods.”

You rolled your eyes, “Easy there tiger.”

“I really don't know how he's single, three years in this town and it's not like the women haven't been throwing themselves at him.”

“Well, maybe he is really too good to be true.” You countered, taking up your apparently one woman stance of your dislike of the man again as you took a sip of your coffee - biting your lip at your own groan at how a simple latte could taste so good.

Libby chuckled, “Or maybe you're too stubborn to see what's right in front of you.”

You sighed, unwilling to admit, even to Libby, that your stance on Marcus might be softening just a touch. “Let's agree to disagree, shall we?”

“Fine, fine,” Libby conceded, taking another heavenly bite of her scone. “But one day you'll see. Good things, and good people, might just come in unexpected packages.”

Your phone buzzed with a notification about a new job posting in Toronto. You glanced at it, suddenly feeling less of that earlier urgency to return to the hustle and bustle of city life. The idea of stepping back into the rat race seemed so detached from where you were now—surrounded by the rustic charm of Maplewood and its genuine, warm-hearted inhabitants.

You took another sip of your latte and stole one last look through the bookstore's window, back towards the bakery. Marcus was crouching down to hand a sugar cookie shaped like a pumpkin to one of the small kids in the bakery. The child's face lit up with joy, a mirror of the light that seemed to emanate from Marcus himself.

Maybe Libby had a point. Maybe good things did come in unexpected packages.

You put your phone down, screen facing the table, and looked back at Libby, who was now back engrossed in her book. But your thoughts weren't on job postings or the life you had in Toronto. They were here, on this little corner of Maplewood.

For the first time, in a long time, you weren’t thinking of ways to run back to your old life.

#october x 500 #autumnal offerings #something sweet this way comes #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader

[imastoryteller]

When you're lost in the creative whirlwind of storytelling, let your heart lead the way

Pour your raw emotions, vivid memories, and deepest desires onto the page without inhibition. Write with passion, letting the words flow freely, unencumbered by rules or structure. Let your imagination soar, unfettered by doubts or fears. Only when your heart is fully expressed should you step back and apply the tools of structure and craft. Shape your narrative, refine your characters, and polish your prose. By balancing heart and structure, your story will resonate with authenticity, creating a captivating world that lingers in the minds of your readers.

#writing tips #writing advice #writers on tumblr #writeblr #creative writing #fiction writing #writerscommunity #writing #writing help #writing resources

[bethanydelleman]

Jane fairfax anon here with another question 😭 I'm curious as to how secret engagements actually worked? I can understand for edward and lucy that they lived in the same house and were cousins, there must have been some moments when they were alone, just the two of them. But how did jane and frank manage it without attracting the notice of the Campbells and their other acquaintances? If they spent too much time with each other they would have attracted attention. Also, from Sense and Sensibility I understood that it was impossible to receive a letter without the whole household knowing about it. The only plausible explanation is that Jane sneaked out at night lmao but that doesn't really sit with her character? I'm curious about what you think, how do you think they managed to meet in private, often and enough to get into and arrange a secret engagement?

Hey! So quick correction first, Edward and Lucy are not cousins (Mrs. Jennings and Lucy are allegedly cousins, I wouldn't put it past Lucy to make that up). But yes, she would visit her uncle while Edward was at school and then when he was hanging out after graduating. They had a lot of time possibly alone.

On to Jane Fairfax! We actually have some clues as to how they met and fell in love. Firstly, the Campbells might know a lot more than they let on:

With regard to her not accompanying them to Ireland, her account to her aunt contained nothing but truth, though there might be some truths not told. It was her own choice to give the time of their absence to Highbury; to spend, perhaps, her last months of perfect liberty with those kind relations to whom she was so very dear: and the Campbells, whatever might be their motive or motives, whether single, or double, or treble, gave the arrangement their ready sanction, and said, that they depended more on a few months spent in her native air, for the recovery of her health, than on any thing else.

This is about Jane not accompanying the family to Ireland, where obviously it would be hard for her to meet with Frank. I will be bold enough to say that the Campbells probably have strong suspicions of an attachment, if not outright knowledge of the engagement. Maybe Frank was going to try and go with them but he was denied by his aunt?

Next, some hints, mostly dropped by Frank Churchill:

I met her frequently at Weymouth. I had known the Campbells a little in town; and at Weymouth we were very much in the same set.... I have been used to hear her’s admired; and I remember one proof of her being thought to play well:—a man [Mr. Dixon], a very musical man, and in love with another woman [Miss Campbell]—engaged to her—on the point of marriage—would yet never ask that other woman [Jane] to sit down to the instrument, if the lady in question could sit down instead—never seemed to like to hear one if he could hear the other.

Now this last statement from Frank gives Emma suspicions, but there is an easy second explanation. By having Jane play, Mr. Dixon could talk in confidence to Miss Campbell. But we know Frank can't stay away from the instrument, he was no doubt there, turning her music pages and singing duets. Also, sounds like they hung out at Weymouth a lot. We know they both danced and sang duets at Weymouth.

The early letter from Jane to her grandmother also gives me suspicions:

and as Jane used to be very often walking out with them—for Colonel and Mrs. Campbell were very particular about their daughter’s not walking out often with only Mr. Dixon, for which I do not at all blame them

So either Frank (who seems to have a lot of autonomy to travel within England) is meeting them during these walks in London or Miss Campbell is taking Jane to the post office. Sneaky sneaks!!!

I also suspect that it was Frank, not Mr. Dixon, who saved Jane from falling off the sailboat. This would be perfect actually because Emma's suspicions that Jane fell in love with Mr. Dixon also stem from this dramatic episode.

I do think it is a whirlwind engagement, but the key really seems to be Weymouth and I have strong suspicions that Miss Campbell was playing matchmaker.

#slutty slutty pianoforte page turning #question response #great question! #jane fairfax #frank churchill #jane austen #emma #secret engagement