#Some 80% done I'd say

[dormarunt]

There's no God, capital G or not, to save me from what I'm about to post later. Brainrot of the highest degree, so much so that I wanted to get an alt AO3 account for this. Complete fever dream.

And only Berlermo in (one of the) themes.

[starswallowingsea]

"I'm not in middle school anymore I'm actually a year out of middle school and married so HA" is not the flex you think it is man

[andhumanslovedstories]

A code status is what you want the hospital to do if your heart or breathing stops, and we've got two basic options: full code which means we do EVERYTHING and Do Not Resuscitate or DNR which means we do less than everything. There's like little add-ons like intubated or not intubated, or blood products or no blood products, but that's basic gist of it. Do you want us to try everything we can to save your life or if your heart stops, is that it? And then we take that information and put it in your chart and make it very prominent in case we need to find it quickly in an emergency. Jane Doe, 72 years old, DNR. John Whatsisname, 49 years old, full code. Like that.

Anyway I'd like to propose a third code status that we'll call "DNR!!!" This is when you not only don't want heroic measures to extend your life, you are so excited to die. I thought of this recently when getting report on a patient, and the day nurse talking to me was like, "Alice Smith, 80 years old, DNR and she will tell you that herself." And I was like, "I don't think code status is gonna come up organically," and the nurse was like, "It won't, but she'll tell you anyway." And then I introduced myself to the patient, and like three minutes in as we're talking about pain meds, she goes, "and by the way, when I'm dead, I'm DEAD. Don't be bringing me back! Every woman in my family has lived past 90, and I'm here to break that tradition! NO one needs to live that long, and I certainly don't, and frankly it's indecent for me to have made it this far. God willing the reaper will come for me any day now. I would never take actions to make him come sooner, but I'm not moving that fast and he is DAWDLING. Disgusting. No work ethic these days. And don't bother with a grave, just chuck me out the window and let the birds at me."

And I'm like "so is that a no to the tylenol"

And she was like "oh no, I'd love some tylenol and a warm blanket too. Now look at me. I've done everything I could possibly want to do in this world and quite a few things I didn't want to do, and personally I don't think I should have to keep doing things. I'd also love a cranberry juice."

Anyway. DNR!! I'm sorry to say she made it through the night completely unscathed.

[daxite]

oh my fucking god can people actually just shut up about that captcha post i seriously don't give a shit dude

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Too big to care

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in BOSTON with Randall "XKCD" Munroe (Apr 11), then PROVIDENCE (Apr 12), and beyond!

Remember the first time you used Google search? It was like magic. After years of progressively worsening search quality from Altavista and Yahoo, Google was literally stunning, a gateway to the very best things on the internet.

Today, Google has a 90% search market-share. They got it the hard way: they cheated. Google spends tens of billions of dollars on payola in order to ensure that they are the default search engine behind every search box you encounter on every device, every service and every website:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/03/not-feeling-lucky/#fundamental-laws-of-economics

Not coincidentally, Google's search is getting progressively, monotonically worse. It is a cesspool of botshit, spam, scams, and nonsense. Important resources that I never bothered to bookmark because I could find them with a quick Google search no longer show up in the first ten screens of results:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Even after all that payola, Google is still absurdly profitable. They have so much money, they were able to do a $80 billion stock buyback. Just a few months later, Google fired 12,000 skilled technical workers. Essentially, Google is saying that they don't need to spend money on quality, because we're all locked into using Google search. It's cheaper to buy the default search box everywhere in the world than it is to make a product that is so good that even if we tried another search engine, we'd still prefer Google.

This is enshittification. Google is shifting value away from end users (searchers) and business customers (advertisers, publishers and merchants) to itself:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/05/the-map-is-not-the-territory/#apor-locksmith

And here's the thing: there are search engines out there that are so good that if you just try them, you'll get that same feeling you got the first time you tried Google.

When I was in Tucson last month on my book-tour for my new novel The Bezzle, I crashed with my pals Patrick and Teresa Nielsen Hayden. I've know them since I was a teenager (Patrick is my editor).

We were sitting in his living room on our laptops – just like old times! – and Patrick asked me if I'd tried Kagi, a new search-engine.

Teresa chimed in, extolling the advanced search features, the "lenses" that surfaced specific kinds of resources on the web.

I hadn't even heard of Kagi, but the Nielsen Haydens are among the most effective researchers I know – both in their professional editorial lives and in their many obsessive hobbies. If it was good enough for them…

I tried it. It was magic.

No, seriously. All those things Google couldn't find anymore? Top of the search pile. Queries that generated pages of spam in Google results? Fucking pristine on Kagi – the right answers, over and over again.

That was before I started playing with Kagi's lenses and other bells and whistles, which elevated the search experience from "magic" to sorcerous.

The catch is that Kagi costs money – after 100 queries, they want you to cough up $10/month ($14 for a couple or $20 for a family with up to six accounts, and some kid-specific features):

https://kagi.com/settings?p=billing_plan&plan=family

I immediately bought a family plan. I've been using it for a month. I've basically stopped using Google search altogether.

Kagi just let me get a lot more done, and I assumed that they were some kind of wildly capitalized startup that was running their own crawl and and their own data-centers. But this morning, I read Jason Koebler's 404 Media report on his own experiences using it:

https://www.404media.co/friendship-ended-with-google-now-kagi-is-my-best-friend/

Koebler's piece contained a key detail that I'd somehow missed:

When you search on Kagi, the service makes a series of “anonymized API calls to traditional search indexes like Google, Yandex, Mojeek, and Brave,” as well as a handful of other specialized search engines, Wikimedia Commons, Flickr, etc. Kagi then combines this with its own web index and news index (for news searches) to build the results pages that you see. So, essentially, you are getting some mix of Google search results combined with results from other indexes.

In other words: Kagi is a heavily customized, anonymized front-end to Google.

The implications of this are stunning. It means that Google's enshittified search-results are a choice. Those ad-strewn, sub-Altavista, spam-drowned search pages are a feature, not a bug. Google prefers those results to Kagi, because Google makes more money out of shit than they would out of delivering a good product:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/4/2/24117976/best-printer-2024-home-use-office-use-labels-school-homework

No wonder Google spends a whole-ass Twitter every year to make sure you never try a rival search engine. Bottom line: they ran the numbers and figured out their most profitable course of action is to enshittify their flagship product and bribe their "competitors" like Apple and Samsung so that you never try another search engine and have another one of those magic moments that sent all those Jeeves-askin' Yahooers to Google a quarter-century ago.

One of my favorite TV comedy bits is Lily Tomlin as Ernestine the AT&T operator; Tomlin would do these pitches for the Bell System and end every ad with "We don't care. We don't have to. We're the phone company":

https://snltranscripts.jt.org/76/76aphonecompany.phtml

Speaking of TV comedy: this week saw FTC chair Lina Khan appear on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. It was amazing:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaDTiWaYfcM

The coverage of Khan's appearance has focused on Stewart's revelation that when he was doing a show on Apple TV, the company prohibited him from interviewing her (presumably because of her hostility to tech monopolies):

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/apple-got-caught-censoring-its-own

But for me, the big moment came when Khan described tech monopolists as "too big to care."

What a phrase!

Since the subprime crisis, we're all familiar with businesses being "too big to fail" and "too big to jail." But "too big to care?" Oof, that got me right in the feels.

Because that's what it feels like to use enshittified Google. That's what it feels like to discover that Kagi – the good search engine – is mostly Google with the weights adjusted to serve users, not shareholders.

Google used to care. They cared because they were worried about competitors and regulators. They cared because their workers made them care:

https://www.vox.com/future-perfect/2019/4/4/18295933/google-cancels-ai-ethics-board

Google doesn't care anymore. They don't have to. They're the search company.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

[dduane]

I just read the part where Kirk experiences the Enterprise's point of view in The Wounded Sky to someone else, where she sees the crew as children she is training up to the Great Desire of exploration for exploration's sake, especially Jim. His reaction, essentially: "That was really pretty. ....And then he blows her up."

I hadn't thought about that before! I checked the copyright date, and it looks like The Wounded Sky came out a year before The Search for Spock, so you were writing without knowing that sacrifice would eventually happen.

How did you feel about that? Do you wish that writing decision had been made differently? (If, as a Trek writer, you're allowed to comment on other Trek writers' choices!)

You know, I tend not to think a whole lot about such issues. First of all, because (in the long run) it gets you nowhere in particular that's useful. And secondly, because it's not a thing that, as a Trek writer in any medium except film, you have the slightest power to change.

Now, at this end of time I think we can safely say that no one's going to hire me on to write a Trek film. And also that no one at that end of the creative spectrum is going to pay the slightest attention to anything I say, either. Both of those situations are just What's So, and neither of them bothers me. (Since I have universes of my own to manage at the moment, and that's where my attention properly lies.) So as regards my opinions about other writers' work, I'm pretty much off the hook.

If I had been on screenwriting duty for that film, would there be things I'd have wanted to do differently? Hell yeah. From the premise up. But the important thing here is: would those things necessarily have worked better on the screen / with the audience? Impossible to tell. And speaking as someone repeatedly given permission to work in someone's universe, the main thing to be aware of is the expectation that your chief responsibility is to do what best serves the characters and the IP of which they're part. (There's a post over at Out of Ambit with a lot more of my thoughts on the subject:)

The other thing to remember is that, though I've worn the Canonical Hat in my time, novel work is by definition non-canonical. Doing it, you are at all times working with the understanding that the licensor rarely views your work as anything better than a corporate side hustle—a way for the IP to make some cash on the side—and will ignore you and the stuff you've created unless given pressing reasons to do otherwise. (Such as when they might make some unexpected money off it... at which point you remind yourself as forcibly as necessary that what you did is Work For Hire; they own it, lock, stock and barrel, and you should not realistically expect to be given any credit.)

And, if you understand the rules and enjoy the work enough, all of this is okay. The reward is not in making a lot of money doing it, or even in having aspects of your work openly assumed into canon. The reward lies in being allowed to contribute to a given universe in public (and, yeah, getting paid for it by the licensor). It's not payback: it's payforward. And you're left an astonishing amount of freedom to bring your vision to that universe. (Sometimes... as one colleague has McCoy say... you have to be "very, very careful" to get away with it. But it can be done.)

The truth is that even in the 1980s, I was sharing this level of playing-in-a-universe with a goodish cohort of editors and writers: a big roomful at least. Now I'm sharing it (retroactively speaking) with hundreds of them. With the best will in the world, even in the 80's the licensors (as regarded film) couldn't have realistically polled/listened to all of us regarding our creative opinions about the screenplay end of things. As for what that'd look like nowadays... I'll leave you to your own deductions. 😏

Anyway, thanks for the question. It's always nice to know that there are people who want to know what you think. 😊

[rad-roche]

they say if you repeat the words 'sad middle-aged robot detective' three times, i'll appear out of nowhere!

god, okay. this one. i thought i'd do something out of my comfort zone and swung way too far the other way; unfamiliar character, extremely unfamiliar artstyle, the rps marker tools (which i have never used) made to emulate real alcohol markers (which i have also never used), the absolute worst canvas choice for those tools, done in colour (i work almost exclusively in greyscale) and at one point i tried to go for some crazy cool-toned light/warm shadow thing. typically my speedpaints are pretty straightforward, but this one is all footage of me trying to wrangle my way out of my mistakes, which is valuable in its own way. if nothing else, it's trained my problem solving, though the smart play would have been to avoid 80% of the problems. live and learn

[sophieinwonderland]

Debunking r/systemscringe's DID Lies!

For those who aren't aware, r/systemscringe is an ableist hate subreddit, and is one of the greatest sources of misinformation about dissociative disorders and plurality on the internet.

Today, I'd like to go over some of their most prominent excuses for fakeclaiming DID and OSDD systems, and why those reasons are contradicted by actual research by actual psychiatrists.

"Alters Can't Talk To Each Other"

This is one of the most easily-debunked lies I've seen to excuse fakeclaiming. It can take a few different forms. But generally, when a system talks about speaking to their alters, r/systemscringe users will say that it's impossible and that DID doesn't work like that.

This isn't just a little false. It completely contradicts all known research into DID.

Hearing voices of alters is directly mentioned in the DSM-5 as a symptom.

This isn't even uncommon. Voce hearing is more common in DID than in schizophrenia, experienced in about 80% of cases of dissociative disorders.

Now, it does need to be noted that just because 80% do, that doesn't mean it's true of everyone. 20% is still a big number, and systems who can't communicate internally are still valid.

But the fact of the matter is that most systems can communicate this way.

"You Need (Years of) Therapy to be Able to Communicate With Alters"

Failing the first one, another popular claim is that alters can't possibly communicate without therapy. Usually, people will claim this requires "years" of therapy to build communication.

So is this true?

Turns out, not in the slightest. In fact, in a study comparing DID voice hearers to schizophrenic voice hearers, it was found that 90% of the DID voice hearers started hearing voices before the age of 18.

This is in comparison to a Schizophrenic group that consisted of 28% without maltreatment and 38% with maltreatment that started before the age of 18.

Given that DID notoriously takes years to get correctly diagnosed with and most patients aren't diagnosed until adulthood, it should be obvious that most of these 90% didn't have to undergo years of therapy before being able to hear the voices of their alters.

"Alters Can't Be Friends"

Let's be 100% clear here. Dissociative Identity Disorder is absolutely a disorder. It couldn't be diagnosed if it didn't come with some level of distress or impairment. That's a fundamental part of the criteria.

But when that same study I posted above asked the DID and Schizophrenic groups if they would miss the voices if they were gone, a huge 69% of the DID group said they would.

The truth is that DID is more complicated and nuanced than "having alters bad."

Sometimes the distress or impairment has less to do with the other alters and more to do with the other dissociative symptoms, such as the DP/DR and the amnesia.

And sometimes, you can have positive relationships with some alters and negative relationships with others. And yes, there is that 31% who say they wouldn't miss hearing their alters if they no longer heard them. That's valid too.

But this does show that a majority of DID systems do feel a close attachment to the other alters in their systems.

"Systems Can't Control When They Switch"

Like above, this is nuanced. The truth is some systems can't control switching. Others can only control it some of the time. And some have full control.

There has actually been a study on a DID patient voluntarily switching in and MRI machine:

This study literally couldn't have been done were it not possible to voluntarily switch.

"Fictives Aren't Real"

Okay, now let's tackle one of the biggest lies to justify fakeclaiming. Fictional introjects or "Fictives" are alters or headmates based on fictional characters. r/systemscringe and other fakeclaimers love to fakeclaim systems for being fictive heavy or even having any fictives at all.

And like most of r/systemscringe's claims, this is nonsense. Here is one account of fictives from 1988.

Furthermore, in the book The Haunted Self, which is responsible for the Theory of Structural Dissociation of the Personality, one case study is referenced of someone who had many fictives based off of Start Trek characters.

This also serves to debunk other reasons for fakeclaiming I've seen from r/systemscringe. That a system has too many fictive, is all fictives, or that their fictives all come from the same source. Because as we see above, this is a very real documented presentation of dissociative identity disorder.

Closing:

I'm likely not done with this post. I plan to add to this list of misinformation that I've seen repeatedly peddled by the hate subreddit and used to justify attacking systems. There is A LOT there!

But here's the bottom line. r/systemcringe is a hate sub peddling division and bigotry against systems... often for normal system things that have been well-documented in academic literature.

If you're here from r/systemscringe, I'm sure you've seen all or most of the above lies I debunked above posted there. And if you're a system, I would ask you why you would stand by a subreddit that so blatantly spreads misinformation about other systems with the intent of hurting them? With the intent of hurting people like you?

Because if you think that they're your friends, I have watched them turn on systems that joined in with their fakeclaiming so many times, and fakeclaiming fellow members of that subreddit. And I can promise that they will turn on you too.

Click here for my debunk of their claims that endogenic systems are a "conspiracy theory."

[sourbites]

Can I request a Kirk smut!! Friends to lovers kinda thing. For instance yall are smoking weed at your place and feeling a bit insecure about still being single and he makes a move on you???

Can't Tell You Why

thank you for the request! this was a lot of fun to write. i chose to write this imagining early 80s kirk, just to really amp up that clumsy love that friends share. hope you enjoy :)

The tip of the joint crackles, embers glowing as you coax smoke down into your lungs. The atmosphere in your bedroom is thick, smogged with smoke and giggles. There's soft rock playing in the background — some band Kirk chose.

"You're avoiding the question," He laughs, all love-me-tender brown eyes and crooked white teeth. You're both having fun, he's teasing you, you're teasing him. But still, you hesitate, exhaling smoke from your nose thoughtfully.

"I don't know," You wipe one hand on the front of your jeans. "I've only done it, like, once. Wasn't that fun, either— we were in this tiny car, and there was so much bumping around."

You twist on your bed, leaning up against the wall. Kirk moves, too, leaning his weight on a hand. "Once?" He repeats, surprised.

"What's that supposed to mean? You think I've been around?" You laugh, although there's some discomfort at his reaction lurking around in your mind. His mortification catches up with him two beats later. Eyes wide, laughing nervously along with you.

"I didn't mean it like that," Kirk exhales, smoke floating and swirling around the both of you. It hazes everything up: the light from your lamps scatter differently. Shadows look hesitant. He mulls over how to explain himself, self-conscious as he adjusts his position again. "I— I just meant, that you," He swipes a hand over his face, groaning in embarrassment through those hesitant chuckles. "You're smart, and— and real pretty. And charming enough to get anyone you'd want, so— I dunno, I mean, I'd..." He trails off. He speaks unintelligible nonsense for a few moments, before trying again. "You get what I mean." He concludes.

"Do I?" You take the joint from him. Something within you makes you feel sick with a feeling you wouldn't like to meet.

Kirk, ever the conversationalist, gives you an eye-roll. "So who was he, anyway?" He gestures to you, his index and middle finger steadying the shrinking joint.

You shrug. "Just a friend of a friend. I already told you."

He didn't say anything after that. Just hid behind his curly bangs, working his fingers into your bedsheets. Honestly, you're unsure why you even entertained this conversation. It's not like you'd find camaraderie within Kirk, not these days— tons of women want his attention. They want to taste his plump lips, hold his baby face, and kiss the crease between his brows when he frowns. You want to claw this bitter taste from your mouth. Gut the barbed vines in your stomach. As cool as you want to present, it isn't the most brag-worthy thing. Your first and only time being a half-baked hookup in some cramped-ass Ford Pinto? Get out the confetti. Your train of thought became an internal train wreck.

"Well," Kirk begins to roll another. "Where would you rather it happened?" Just briefly, his brown eyes glance up at your face to read your expression.

"Where else could it happen?" You ask no one in particular, voice hushed and ironically smoky in your fogged-up bedroom. You hum thoughtfully, picking at the thin rolling papers sprawled out on your bed. "Is it boring if I say a bed? Nothing else I can think of sounds appealing."

For some reason, you're allowed first drags. Pouring over you, Kirk lights the fresh joint between your lips. "Not boring at all. It's a classic for a reason, real nice when it's done right." He speaks easily, shrugging slightly. He's trying to soothe you. His smile makes your insides twist— and you enjoy it, in some macabre way. Teeth vibrantly white against warm lamplight and fuzzy shadows and black curls. You want to eat his mouth.

"Right." You sigh. Smoke billows from your parted lips. "I suppose you have? Done it right?" You're not sure why you ask that. You just want something to say. Preferably not about your (totally lacking) sex life.

Finally, it's Kirk's turn to bristle hesitantly. Easing his nerves, you pass him the joint.

"I've had some good nights, yeah." His answer is guarded. Your eyes glitter. What's he hiding? You nudge his side with your knuckles.

"But...?" You invite.

Kirk watches you for a moment or two, concluding you won't let this go. "But," He echoes, nudging you back. "I wouldn't say I've done it right."

"Why not?" You lean in. Drinking up the smoke that rolls off of him. You can smell him in the air, too, smoke-smouldering something spicy and musky.

He tilts his head to see you better. "Can't tell you," He whispers, grinning, wholly contradicting the inviting way his body slants to indulge you.

"Kiiiiirk."

Sigh. He's giving you the eyes. The eyes. Round and big, brown eyes so sparkly that they disarm anyone he's gazing at. You lean to him, attentive as a statue. You could soak him up if you wanted to; you're that close. Discarded smoke, already exhaled with all that high-inducing goodness soaked up, swirls around the both of you, murky white tendrils making you want to sway with them, beckoning you to move. Speak. Breathe. Live.

"Ideally," He shifts again, wanting to reshuffle his atoms. "Ideally, it'd be a bed..." A warm palm brushes your wrist and sneaks the joint from your fingers. "With you..." Your heart pauses. You stare at him, bewildered. "And me..."

What. The. Fuck.

Kirk takes your silence as a sign you want him to keep going. One hand cups your cheek, so tenderly you're tricked into thinking you're made from glass. "C'mon. How many more hints do I need to drop?" He coos at you before taking a much-needed drag of the joint to ease his own racing heart.

The funny thing is, you've hoarded his name in your throat for months. You didn't realise he had been holding his own breath for you.

Why? Out of everyone— you?

Kirk runs his tongue over his teeth, getting antsy. Softly urging you, he brushes the pad of his thumb along your lower lip while you just stare at him, amazed. You watch him from beneath your eyelashes as if he hung the stars in the sky. It comes again: the longing. The desire with no name, because no one has yet given you the language to speak it in.

Wordlessly, you draw his hand into yours. "That, um. Sounds nice." You reply, with what limited cohesive brain cells you have left.

Testing the waters, Kirk brushes his lips against yours, his breath mingling with your own. And it's hands down the most intoxicating thing you've ever had— you want to swallow it down in handfuls. Your eyelashes flutter again, and you almost feel drunk. He holds your cheek with clumsy, gentle fingers. He puts a heat in you that you didn't think was possible. And it feels so unfathomably perfect to feel wanted.

It's slow. Gently, you gravitate towards Kirk as if you're floating. Your mouths connect with a little more certainty this time. He laughs softly against your mouth. There is no better taste than that, you decide. Someone's honeyed laugh on your tongue. You're dizzy— should you feel dizzy? You want this feeling to stay.

Restless, he abandons the joint in the ashtray. With both hands in use, they swipe over your back, worship your thighs by the handfuls, winding and sewing roots in your hair.

"Can I take care of you?" Kirk whispers into the edge of your face, right underneath your chin. His mouth- wet and wanting, marks the uncharted territory of the soft underside of your face with a slow, hot kiss that ripples through you, reshaping you into something with an emptiness that's hurting to be filled. His tongue is laving wet and dripping with eagerness, building a taste for your skin as it glosses his spit down your throat. He tilts in to suck below your ear.

"Fuck, Kirk. Yeah— yes." You stumble out, nodding, your hips squirming in their cage of your jeans. You sweep your aching palms along his back, mussing his curls. He tucks your earlobe between his teeth, grazing the bluntness of his front teeth slowly along your skin. His breath sends chills down your spine. He grinds both hands beneath the waistband of your jeans, reading your mind.

He's aching to get a taste of you. The softness of your inner thighs swath around his head, dark curls rasping against your skin. His hot mouth is drinking you up through your panties, nosing into your pelvis. He wants to breathe as many 'I love you's' as he can into your skin, he wants to rake his tongue against your slit, lick your cunt open. Kirk can tell you're soaked— arousal drooling through the fabric that covers you, teasing him with the cock-hardening punch of girl flavour that he loves so much, seeping along the edge of his mouth.

Your underwear is thumbed off, his face shoved right into your cunt, and yet you still want to steer him by the shoulders and pull him closer. He takes slow, indulgent sucks on your quickly throbbing clit, that snowball into big, broad licks, tongue flat and mopping up your slick from bottom to top. He sinks two fingers into you, each pump straight down to the knuckle, creating crude squelching noises with the purest, stickiest arousal simmering within you. It's all burning hot, hot, hot.

Kirk swoops down again, filling his starving mouth with what he thirsts for: your leaking pussy. His cute nose is smooshed against your pelvic bone, and every dirty lap of his searing tongue forces your hips to scatter restlessly and yanks a whine from your throat. He's wild and heartache and sin, and it leaves you reeling from his every touch, every curl of his fingers and every relentless, starved suck of your clit, until his cheeks hollow.

"Can't believe I went so long without this," He groans with lusty delight, releasing your aching clit with a pornographic, wet pop. He kisses your parted entrance, tips his head down and spits on your slit. Whatever honey-soft brown was left lingering in his baby-love eyes has been devoured by total blackness, glimmering in delight as he watches his work of art, your soaked, spit-slick sex. He goes back in, shoving his parched mouth onto you, sucking in a fold, nipping the other, thumbing at your throbbing, swollen clit. He wants to eat you whole. Every salacious lick of his neverending tongue thunders within you— your cunt, tight and hot and so adored by Kirk's divine mouth, squeezes of arousal building within you until they morph into full-body trembles, your abdomen clenching and un-clenching, taut.

He glances up at you, dark eyes glittering behind his curly bangs, eyeing the heave of your tits with each tremoring breath. He touches you where hands simply cannot. His thick tongue eagerly tastes your heat: flesh, sweetness, salt. His cock is bursting against his too-tight boxers. You roll your hips against his mouth, chasing every lap of his tongue, every brush of his calloused hands. Softly, he becomes endless in you, and the searing pleasure he paints for you becomes explosive. Your volatile hands fist into his hair and yank, grinding down against his pretty face as gasps block your airways. He's drinking your soul - stuffing his mouth with every morsel of your worship-worthy pleasure.

You wail through the orgasm, something deep within you awakened and booming; how you survived him, you don't know. Your cum, sticky and warm, ebbs down Kirk's plump lips, smearing on his chin as he laps you up, thumbs spreading your cunt open to ensure he's licked every part of you clean. Even then, the impish flicks of his tongue do not go unappreciated.

To get him to stop his (wonderfully feeling) assault on your cunt, you peel Kirk away from you, a hand in his hair and your other palming at his shoulder. "How'd," You breathe, stupefied, "How'd you learn to do that?"

Kirk hides behind his curly bangs as if he has the right to get coy after gorging on your pussy so filthily. His teeth, white and charmingly crooked, glitter as he grins flusteredly. He wipes his mouth of spit and slick with the back of his hand. You feel a pang of emptiness without both his hands somewhere on your overheating body. "I, uh, I have a thing for it, I guess."

Great. You sigh, lost for words.

"Can we keep going?" You murmur out, gingerly pressing a warm palm to his worn-soft denim jeans, which are all warped and taut from his hard bulge.

Kirk's hands, all slow tenderness to soothe you, cup your cheeks, fingers sweeping into your hair. He lays a kiss on your lips with his own hungry mouth, kissing away at your senses. "Of course, beautiful."

His bulge swells right beneath your pussy, your orgasm simmering away and dirtying his denim jeans. Handsy with it, he palms off his belt and throws his jeans and boxers somewhere in your room. You let one of your legs fall open while he scoops up the other, forcing your thigh high up his waist, his palm sliding down to grab a handful of your ass. He sinks inside the molten ache of your eaten-raw cunt. He kisses you into oblivion at the sight of his thick cock disappearing within you.

The odd thing is, it all feels so easy. You're choked with the sincerity of the moment. Kirk's hands are devoted worshippers, thumbs stroking along your skin where you tremble, holding you where your thigh and hip meet, cradling you. Weightlessly, and yet with heavy limbs, you lay into the bed. You're full of paradoxes tonight. Light, heavy, friend, lover. They're all the same.

Your hands glide up his taut biceps, sliding down the slope of his back, tracing along muscles and bone. You hook him in, keep him close. Kirk's biting down on his lower lip, his eyes lidded, fluttering at the dreamy feeling of your dripping cunt clenching down on him in searing hot pulses. You shift your hips a little— you can feel his cock smushed into your cervix. Kirk groans low near your ear.

This hot, fulfilling fullness seems to seep deeper and deeper within you, endless. With a hitching breath, Kirk's hips withdraw, taking his body-hot heat with him. Until it pours all over you again in waves, easing your abuse-swollen sex, his thumb dipping down to gather the sopping wetness of your slick, cum, and his drool, and stir it around your puffy clit in full circles. All while he takes you in long, eager strokes, delicious friction causing your hands to skirt around his shoulders, putting a cramping, throbbing, ache in your hips.

You shudder, going tight around him. Kirk presses his face where your shoulder meets your neck. You can feel his baby face, sweet cheeks and plump mouth, those fawn brown eyes of his squeezed shut. Those charming features on a man who is fucking you with so much impeccable spirit that you're surely driven crazy with every rock of his hips, snapping up to wallop into the tenderly sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Every wet sound of his mean cock scraping the velvet insides of your aching cunt draws sobs out from deep within your stuffed-full belly. Your heart feels like a bass pounding in your ears, surrounding you with so much noise, every throbbing thump causing your breaths to shake.

Tangled bodies feel like they're cooking with all the hot friction between them. It smoulders, threatening to ignite— as if the hazy smoke of your social chainsmoking wasn't enough to put you in an awestruck daze. You clench your teeth, scraping your nails up the hollow of Kirk's shoulder blades, your own back arching off the bed, (which he uses as an excuse to get another gropeful of your ass) while he works your throbbing clit even harder. You want to squirm and writhe, but that'd disrupt the gorgeous rhythm of his cock. He drags himself through your wound-tight pussy, sloppy, indescribably thorough whacks of his pelvic bone right on the beginning of your slit.

You forget who's air you're breathing. Or if you're breathing at all.

In carnal screams that scratch up your sore throat, you murmur something akin to more more more don't stop, Kirk. Please. Kirk. His pace stumbles, landing right on his high while you're already curling around him, nails anchored in his skin, cries spilling from your lips. You squeeze around him with so much zeal that Kirk quite literally cannot move for fear of splitting you in two. All epic highs have lows, however: you scrape your hands down, tracing where your cunt oozes out your climaxes, feeling the boiling heat settle down, watching Kirk's glistening cock withdraw from you.

Everything feels suspended. Mid-air, hanging on the edge of something. Maybe it's longing. By some phenomenal stroke of luck (maybe it's your lucky day), the joint you were sharing is still lit. Kirk takes a long drag, exhaling against your clammy, bare skin. His mouth reaches your shoulder, and he kisses it with that pretty, insatiable mouth until you feel faint.

"Fuck," You take the joint he offered to you. Although you're not sure that this moment can get softer and warmer. "That was definitely better than my first time."

Kirk grins at your words, grunting quietly as he lays beside you, guiding your splayed-out hair away from your neck. "Just you wait. That was just a warm-up."

[blepbah]

Thought I'd try a notes game :)

Repeated every week

- every 10 notes: 1 edge.

- every 25 notes: keep my pussy, tits, and stomach shaved.

- every 30 notes: wear no underwear or wear panties.

- every 60 notes: wear a bra underneath my binder.

- every 80 notes: do a full workout to become more fuckable.

Non-Repeated

non-repeatable counting ends October 15

- 100 notes: I rub myself to anything you send me, and when I'm done, I'll say thank you.

- 200 notes: buy a pair of panties and a pushup bra.

- 300 notes: buy my first dildo

- 400 notes: buy lingerie

------------------------------

Some info about me:

- 19 years old.

- ftm very masculine.

- going to college.

- T horniness is HIGH😭

- very shy, and im terrified if I have to buy a dildo or lingrie

[supermarketbae]

dom billy punishing you’re being a brat flirting with other guys at a party, he grabs you and shoves you into a closet. It’s really rough hot , and ur both so sweaty and he’s rails his huge thick cock in you. Degrading and praising you. After it’s done you both collapse, cus ur so tired. And he places huge sloppy kisses on your face telling you what a good girl you are, whilst your still shaking from your orgasm.

HEM HeM seeing as it's my **FAVORITE LITTLE REQUESTER**(if there was a way to make 'favorite' more emphasized believe me I WOULD) ig i just have to do a quick little somethin on it (by quick i mean never ending- soul consuming-sending all my brain cells that are in commission to work on it-perhaps multiple chapter-fic) again, I don't make the rules I just work here. (shoutout to @billysbot for literally being the sweetest human!! It's too fun talking to you while i write these funny little fics! (even if you are a tad distracting😏) HAVE THE BEST DAY BB !!) guys please read🙏i went on a half an hour journey to see if the word 'simp' was used back in the 80's

Naughty and Not so Nice

a series

warnings: secret!relationship, P in v smut, degradation, praise, jealous!Billy, Whiny!Billy, Loud!reader, Hopper!reader, choking kink, breeding (ig), semi public sex, idk this whole fic again lmao.

"Tie me up?" you smile as your boyfriend, Billy's hands ghost up your back ever so slightly teasing. "Hargrove, I swear to god don't make me regret liking you!" you laugh as he nimbly tightens the strings of the black corset you wear. "I could never, I'm too amazing." he chuckles coming to nuzzle you from behind breathing in the sweet aroma of your perfume, arms wrapping around your waist possessively. You tsk feigning annoyance, "so cocky baby" you smirk pressing a kiss to his now blushing cheeks. "Shut up." he groans hiding his face in your neck. "We'd better get going darlin'" Billy mumbles to you making no moves towards the door of his room. You groan audibly, "Do we have to?" you whine. You had agreed to go to Tina's Halloween party with Billy. He'd practically begged you to go with him, and who were you to say no.

You knew it was risky wearing semi matching costumes, both of you clad in all black, but what could you say, you longed to be Billy's girl. You wanted everyone to know. Everyone to see that your his. See, the only problem with everyone knowing was your father, Jim Hopper. Needless to say If anyone wanted to get back at you for anything, all they would have to do is tell him you were Hargrove's girl, and you were fucked. You knew the minute that happened you'd be grounded till 55. rolling your eyes at the thought, Billy sighs "I know darlin' but I'd promised some people I'd be there and I'd hate to disappoint." He smirks. "By 'people' do you mean half the high school girls?" you prod giggling "You know me well madam." Billy replies grin boyish. "Attention whore!" you laugh as his hands tickle into your sides and you fall back into him smiling still. "little minx." Billy grumbles kissing your cheek and pulling you to the door.

The party was somewhat fun.However, Billy had disappeared to god knows where. Either way, the food as always, was delicious. The drinks were abundant. It was loud, chaotic, and lively all at the same time. You lean towards Robin to hear her better. "I said," comes her raspy voice. "Do you know if Nancy and Steve are still a thing?" the slight blush on her face makes you smirk "Somebody's intrestedddd in Nancyyyyy" you tease watching her yelp with indignation "Bold of you to assume but ok!" she bites back eyes glittering with amusement "Ohhh you have it bad!" you sing watching Robins face glow deeper red "Shut it! I'll find her myself" she grumbles rolling her eyes at you lovingly. "Good luck!" you shout to her giving her an exaggerated wink and kissy face. You snort as she flips you off, stalking away to find Nancy.

Grimacing at the bitter taste of alcohol in your spiked lemonade you sit back on the couch content, that is, until Jason Carver comes sauntering over. You groan as he smiles down at you scooting the closest he possibly can to you. "What's a pretty girl like you doing by yourself?" he slurs gently to you. You cough aggressively , he positively reeks of alcohol. "Hoping to be near people like you." You state back prettily. The stupid smile on his face only spreads as he lays an arm around you. "We should go out sometime baby, I'd promise I'd make it worth your while." He winks at you cheekily and you giggle swatting him on the arm "You don't mean that!" you say lightly smacking a hand to your mouth to cover your simpering. "I do-" he is leaning closer to your face when he suddenly is yanked away "Get the fuck away from her Carver." Comes the animalistic growl you've come to recognize as your boyfriend.

"Whats'it to you, freak." Apparently, Jason had a death wish today,choosing his words most unwisely. A few people, yourself included gasp as you watch Billy throw Jason off the couch with ease, combat boot coming in contact with the burnette's chest, holding him down. "If you even look at her again. I'll fucking kill you." Billy snarls, voice poisonous. He turns to you possessive gleam evident in his eyes, "get over here." the command sends a shiver down your spine as you get up following him through the crowded room to the upstairs. "The fuck were you playin' at" Billy bites the minute he shuts the door, locking you both into to a tiny bathroom. "You left me. I was bored. He flirted," you say calmly feigning innocence "I don't see the problem, Baby." you say voice seductively low as you inch your hands up his strong frame.

"I guess I have to remind you who you belong to then" he rasps mouth harshly coming to bite at your neck. blatantly marking you. "B-billy-ah-my friends-" You moan as licks a stripe of your neck ferally groaning as he humps into you. "Shut the fuck up-god sweetheart I'm already so hard for you- shoulda-ah-should've fuckin thought of that when you were whoring out for Jason huh?" You mewl at his words eyes rolling back into your head as he clamps a hand over your mouth "c'mon darlin' shut that pretty mouth of yours, d-don't-goddd-don't w-want your friends to hear you moaning my name like a slut huh?" You whimper out muffled as he bends you over the small sink counter, other hand coming to knead into your ass before giving it a rough slap. "Billy~ ohmygod-please babyyy!" you whine as his hands come to play with your hardened nipples. He tsks eyes trailing over your wiggling figure,

"begging me to rail you already love?" Billy mocks as he slowly removes your panties moving your short skirt higher. "So wet already darlin'" Billy keens fingers coming to rub at your swollen clit, you whimper, jolting from the sudden spike in pleasure as he unbuckles his belt, the small clinks of metal sending a shiver down your spine. "Gonna take all of me huh? Pretty fuckin slut. g-good-oh godd-"

You cry out in unison as he thrusts into you, yours loud and perfectly pornographic. "Such a-so tight sweetheart-pretty slutty thing for me yeah?" Billy grunts as you clench around him hand snaking to your hair to pull you back. "Or is it for Jason hmm? you think-ah-fuckin take it darlin' justttt like that- you think he could fuck you like this?" you whimper shaking your head vigorously spasming as he grips your hips slamming them back onto his. "Words, darlin'" Billy huskily mumbles to you. "Nonono j-just you-ah godd Billy so good-just you baby-feels so-ohhh" You cry out, his hand is doing little to muffle your wanton moans now. "Such a slut yeah?-fuck you're milkin' my cock so good baby-good girl such a-ah fuck-good girl." you sob at his words pretty tears streaming down your cheeks "Billy-'m soso sorry baby pleasee I can't s'too good." you slur, you feel like your coming apart at the seams as he rams his thick cock into you. "Awh is my dumb little whore crying for me-such a pretty little thing." He groans as your sobs spike in volume "You can take it darlin', I-oh god baby squeezing me so fucking tight-I know you can take it-so gooodd for me!" Billy purrs to you whimpering.

"Suck 'em, Angel," Billy's fingers hold your mouth open as you moan gratefully, tongue swirling around his digits. "Gotta keep your slutty mouth quiet somehow darlin.'" he chides to your already reeling figure. "f-fuck me Billy P-pleaseee" Your mewl comes out breathy and intelligible as you choke on his fingers. "Ohmygoshd-Billy-mph-Pleaseee-wanna cum!" Billy chuckles as you drool around his finger thumb pad coming to wipe against the bottom of your lip. "droolin'-ah- for me baby?-so-goddd too tight so fuckin tight-such a precious thing." You cling to him as he pushes you closer to the edge. Billy groans tilting his head back, and you wail when his hand comes to play with your already overstimulated clit. "B-Billy~ S-so ohmygmf-I needa cum pleasee-" Billy chuckles darkly "All mine baby-ah-good girl- all fucking mine- so good!" you whine when his thrust grow sporadic, turning your head back, you lock eyes with him, your cock drunk ones coming in contact with his blown pupils, blue completely hidden. "please." you whimper to him. Billy's eyes roll. "God yes, darlin cum for me- all-oh shit darlin' cumming too-oh Goddd." Billy rambles to you pulling you closer as you bawl out his name a final time spasming a final time around his cock, feeling his cum fill you up.

"sosoSO good for me baby, did so good, all mine, all fucking mine darlin'" Billy moans into the shell of your ear softly as you come down from your high. A warm blush fills your cheeks at his praises. You collapse, falling into him. Billy holds you up pressing kisses to your flushed cheeks as you shake, positively scorching from your orgasm. Billy is clinging to you mouthing at any skin he can reach. "love you so much- so fucking much." he slurs out kissing your cheeks again and again. "mmmm love you too baby" you sigh out completely blissed out. Cuddling closer into him. Unaware of Robin searching for you outside...

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

JUAHIHSIWUHWWUIDH AGAIN THIS GOT OUTTA HAND!! MbMB (this is the start of a tiny mini series idk bro) THANK U BB FOR READING!!

[hybbart]

Hi! I absolutely adore your work, I was wondering if you have any advice on getting your ideas and au's out there? Sometimes it feels like no matter how much you post/try to connect with others it's impossible for any posts to break out of the little tumblr interaction bubble

Well, I'm not really the person to ask this, cause any popularity I have at any point is almost entirely dependant on my current hyperfixation, and I'm not one to care much about it.

Mostly I have a good enough appealing and safe art style and good enough sense of humour that's easy for people to like even if they don't especially care about the content, and draw often enough that I don't get forgotten.

My current stuff is fanworks, which have a built in audience, so you're always going to be seen as long as you tag it properly. Especially if you're actively participating in the fandom. I also have the benefit of being obsessed with a rather popular duo like ranchers.

Basically, the notes I get are very predictable and temporary, and not really based on any intentional work. I'm good enough for casual followers to pay attention to as long as it's stuff they recognize. I'd say like 80% of my notes are from casual engagement who aren't really going to do much besides a like and maybe reblog just because they were told they have to reblog artists or they're using the site wrong.

I guess what I mean to say is, having those notes is nice and appreciated but at the end of the day I also have a pretty small little bubble. There's just a wall of passers-by around it making it seem bigger than it actually is. It very quickly dissipates when I draw anything out of the ordinary that I can't put a bunch of popular tags on. So, I'm not really the person to ask about that sort of thing.

That said, I guess all that might sound a bit cynical to most people even though it isn't meant to be, so I guess some actual tips might be in order.

Skill. Art's about communication and expression, which like anything is better done with a larger toolkit and knowledge. And also especially casual engagement just enjoys things of higher quality. Raw ideas aren't usually enough to get people to understand or care unless they care about you. To be blunt, sometimes people just aren't good enough or are too niche for a general audience. That's nothing to be self-conscious or miserable about, it's just something you have to be self-aware about enough to accept that you're not gonna attract people who aren't invested in you. If that's something you want to change by becoming better then you have to intentionally do so, talent is a lie.

Passion. It's obvious when your heart isn't in it regardless of skill level because art is about communication. And passion's what drives us to do better, it's hard to develop and spend time on work you don't really want to do. If you're enthusiastic other people will be more likely to join you in your enthusiasm. If you don't care or are burnt out people will notice. If you're doing things just to get attention people will notice. You have to want to create what you're creating.

Good ideas. To be blunt a good idea that interests people is just going to be more popular than a bad one that doesn't. Sometimes something that interests you doesn't interest a lot of other people, that's why you gotta make peace with caring more about quality interaction over quantity, and being more self-aware.

Making friends. Finding people who are as enthusiastic as you about something is going to go a long way, and people who aren't as enthusiastic are more likely to become enthusiastic or support you if you're friends and you can annoy them in their DMs with 3 hour tangents about your favourite thing. Honestly once you have someone you can do this to you stop caring about the other stuff. Art's about communication, like I said. Participating in events is a great way to make friends, but so is just reaching out to people you like.

Being friendly. This one's pretty simple. If you're a dick people aren't going to take the time to get invested in your project even if it interests them.

Being accessible. This covers anything from literal accessibility to having clean directories and tags, to anchoring/themed extra engagement. 'Do you have any questions about [character]' is going to get more engagement than 'feel free to ask me anything about my au' even if there's less questions to ask because it's less broad and puts less of a burden on the asker to come up with a prompt. It's easier to be broader later on when you have already put out a lot of information and people are more invested.

Being concise: Basically very few people are going to read this goliath of a post compared to a short, information dense, clear post. When I post art I try to avoid too much text, because I want the art to be the focus of the post. When I post writing I put it under a cut so it doesn't consume someone's dash and write something clearer above. The reason writing is going to get less engagement is because it takes more time and effort to engage with than a picture. People who aren't already invested aren't going to sift through 10 paragraphs of loose info. This goes for art, too. One piece is going to catch the eye easier than 10 unrelated sketches or a long form comic. This doesn't mean don't make this content, but be smarter about how you present it to take into account how it engages people.

Tagging things. Don't abuse tags or put irrelevant tags, but finding out what tags are frequented that apply to your art helps. There is definitely still an inconsistent limit of tags that tumblr's search actually pays attention to, so put the most important ones first. I usually put warnings first and foremost and put personal categorization tags last. Being consistent with tags lets people find stuff on your blog easier and makes you show up in a search more frequently, so you're easier to find for people who use tumblr in different ways.

Time of day. This one's finicky to figure out and can change but if you post when there's more people online... well, more people are likely to see it. Apparently other people follow like hundreds or even thousands of blogs and don't even look at everything on their dash, so for those types of people posts might as well not exist unless it's at the top of their dash. This also helps when popping up in more popular tags' most recent when people are actually looking them up. This doesn't affect posts as much as people think but it does enough to be visible. I frequently post things at like 1 am when no one's on so it doesn't get notes until later on and through notifications.

anyways, i hope something in there helps. If not, well... crap.

[swordsmans]

woah!!! another!! here are some glamor shots of two gift copies completed and ready to be mailed >;3c theyre a bit wonky in some places because im still learning (and there was supposed to be a third copy in this set that died tragically to a structural failure) BUT overall im very happy with how these came out.

the left book is a special bind for @faggotzoro as thanks for writing fanfic of my story, with his fic bound in the back!!!! it has a blue dragon skin marble cover with a silver hand-foiled title, a black cloth/silver hand-foiled spine, black endbands, blue/blue endsheets, a silver katana bookmark made from black woven trim, and hand-sanded, black speckled edges!

the right book is a special bind for @fluffyartbl0g as thanks for their fanart!!! they also asked for feed your plants a little sunlight to be bound in the back... ALONG WITH AN AMAZING UPDATED VERSION OF THE COMIC THAT INSPIRED IT!!!! AAAAA!!!

this bind has a red/gold lokta cover with a rectangular square cut-out in the board and layered white/gold lokta + cardstock over the opening to create a 3-D effect! the endsheets are metallic gold mulberry paper and the bookmark is a white silk ribbon with a 24k gold clasp and a gold painted katana charm. the titles on both the cover and spine were hand-foiled and then painted with gel ink, and the edges were hand-sanded and then speckled with red. oh! and it has white endbands.

the third copy that i ultimately scrapped (literally during the case-in step!! it was almost done!! RIP to those materials...) had thin endsheets that led to a structural failure. to try and prevent that, these books have sewn-in flexible made endpapers to... i'd say 80% success?

overall, im learning a lot--my textblock edges have significantly improved and my cuts are much cleaner. board measurement, however, continues to be the biggest challenge--and i might try a thinner ink for edge-painting. i also think im going to experiment with other titling methods, because hand foiling takes about 2+ hours per title (so with two titles per book, each book takes 4-6 hours depending on how often i have to take breaks, the size of the title, and whether its on the fabric or paper).

i have some ideas for my next two gift copies (which are already sewn... ive been busy), so im hoping the process will go even smoother. in other news, ive started the typeset for ocean theology. taking my current pace into account, i'm hoping to open shop around january 25th.

[unforth]

i don't know if you are still into 2ha? but what would you say if someone asked you what makes 2ha stand out? It's full of tropes that have been done before and there is nothing new. it's full of cliches according to some people. So, what makes it stand out?

I am still into 2ha, I'd consider it one of my top fandoms right now.

I'll own I find this whole ask rather odd? It implies that novelty is a. possible and b. what I'm looking for in a book.

For a... Name me a book that isn't full or tropes, name me a book that isn't full of "nothing new," name me a book that isn't full of cliches. Enjoyable books aren't ~original~, and imo original is a myth. It's about how the ideas are strung together, not about them being fresh and different and new.

For b... look. I'm almost 42 years old. I've been reading a ton since I was 8. I've read a l.o.t. over the years. And I've come to learn the things I love in characters and books.

Give me a main character (or, in 2ha, BOTH main characters) who thinks they're worthless and will give everything they have to save an innocent stranger. Give me archetypes of self-sacrifice and martyrdom and low self-esteem and adoration and obsession cooked so deep into their bones that it extends over multiple life times. Give me that adoration reciprocated but the pining, oh, it is mutual for these idiots who should be and will be lovers. I'll eat that up every time. Give me someone who thinks they're unlovable but loves the world anyway, and give me someone who loves them so much they'll tolerate the claws.

Give me epic length I can sink my teeth into. Make the plot sprawling, the side characters lush, the world developed. It's okay if some parts drag a little, it's hard to keep momentum over an epic, and one person's "that dragged" is another's "that rocked." Anyway, the slow bits makes the more exciting parts that much more thrilling.

Give me whump, and hurt/comfort, and pain that burns the soul. Make the characters deep and compelling and then confront them with nothing but bad choices, force them to pick... and then see them pick each other, everytime, even in the midst of the darkest night imaginable. Give me unreliable narrators and angst and characters with nobility that shines like the sun even when they're covered in shit.

I adored this kind of story when I was 12 and I started the Wheel of Time and fell in love with Rand al'Thor, and I adore this kind of story now, in Tian Guan Ci Fu and The Husky and His White Cat Shizun and Modu. The patterns in the kinds of books I enjoy most, the ones that make me feral and obsessed, are very consistent, and being Old means I know what those patterns are and I can seek out books that have them, and recognize them when I find them again. It's happening with the book I'm reading now, in fact, and I can feel the feral obsession growling in delight in my brain, lmao.

Ya know how some people go into fanfiction because they love a character and want to see iterations of them over and over a little to the left? Well, that's why I started fanfic, and through fic I found a genre of original fiction that does that for me. I want similar character archetypes in endless iterations of stories, and danmei gives that to me, and that's why I'm up to my nose in danmei fandoms, and why the specific ones I like best are my favorites.

What stands out about 2ha, for me, is that it fits my taste in character archetypes and plot type. If someone out there shares that taste, they'll probably also love it. If they don't share that taste, they may not, but they may, because it's a complex enough book to cater to more than just one specific type of taste. Someone who likes OP control fantasies will also probably like it, for example. I wouldn't recommend it to everyone, and that's not a bad thing. Stories that appeal to everyone tend to be shallow and not attract deep obsession, having sacrificed the depth to draw a wider audience.

Anyway, anon...you phrased this like an anti. 80% of your ask is trashing the book on false premises about tropes and cliches. I genuinely can't tell if this is meant as a troll or if it's sincere, but I've answered as if it's sincere. But regardless, you'll be a lot happier as a reader if you forget originality. Books aren't original. Find an author, genre, series, whatever, that fits your taste, and frolic there. That's the route to happy reading.

I've found mine. I hope you find yours.

[foone]

"so how old are you?"

"147!"

"wait... Didn't you say you once spent 200 years studying at the crystal university?"

"I did! Mostly over two semesters. Time loops are very handy when you're a student."

"so you're not counting timeloops? So what, 147 is just how long it's been in linear time since you were born, and you're really much much older?"

"oh no, I wasn't born. You can do that kind of thing and be a chronomancer, that's a real liability. You could easily undo your birth and now you've created an uncontrolled paradox. So I got rid of it real early on. No, I don't know how old I'd be if you counted all the time I experienced, counting time loops and time spent in other times and timelines. Hell, some of the stuff I've done, I haven't! I went back and changed my own timeline. Does that count? It's a decent philosophical question, and one above my pay grade."

"so why did you say 147 then?"

"it's my favorite number! Always has been. Did I ever tell you of how I won the Atallus Lottery three months in a row with 147 as my pick?"

"no, but... Wait. Chronomancers are banned from playing the lottery, aren't they?"

They smile mischievously. "yeah, they are Now. Ever wonder why the Union has that law?"

"huh. So I guess if you weren't born, you don't celebrate your birthday?"

"nope! There's no point. Instead I (like most chronomancers) celebrate my death day."

"death... day? You know when you die?!"

"dear, I'm a chronomancer. Of course I know when I did. Remind me to invite you along to the next party, it's a lot of fun."

"when is it?"

"The second of fall! Though we all meet up on the actual day, rather than celebrate it separately every year."

"so it's just a big party of different versions of you, in the future, all wearing party hats and eating cake?"

"pretty much! And all their guests, of course. Oh, I have to introduce you to Goramund! He's a riot, I can't wait to meet him in my current timeline. Lizardmen have the best sense of humor"

You blink, slowly. "master, lizardmen are mortal enemies of The Union. Do you switch sides in the future?"

"oh, no! They're mortal enemies now. They won't be in about... 80 years? I forget when we sign the peace treaty, exactly. Anyway, Goramund won't be hatched for another hundred years or so, and by then The Union and The Empire will have significantly warmed up to each other. You know that blacksmith's shop down by the Colosseum? By the time Goramund is born it'll be replaced by a lizardman restaurant. You'll have to try their cricket quiche, it's one of the tastiest things I ever will have eaten!"

"sure. I'll pencil it into my calendar. A hundred years from today?"

"about, yeah. I may be off by a decade or two."

[crepesuzette2023]

Hey! I'd love to hear your thoughts (and your readers' too!) or, if you'd like, your headcanon for what John and Paul's friendship/relationship/situationship might have looked like in the 80s if John hadn’t been murdered.

The more I listen to Paul's 70s discography, the more I feel just how much he seemed to miss John, and things didn’t seem to be getting easier as the decade came to a close. We know that songs like Now and Then and Real Love offer a glimpse into John's feelings, and there was clearly a sense of him missing Paul back.

So, do you have any headcanon about what could have been between them in that decade?

This is such a fascinating ask. Thank you.

I recently listened to McCartney II again, and also to Double Fantasy and Milk and Honey. And it struck me how alive and creative both of them were—and it made me think of their planned studio/writing date in January '81, which didn't happen.

What could their relationship have looked like, if John had lived? On the creative/musical level, I'm torn. Yes, they were Lennon and McCartney, and each of them was at a peak individually—surely they would have done great things together? But then I think of John describing the "Toot & A Snore" session, and how everyone was staring at him and Paul in the studio. Yes, they could have met in secret to write—but at some point, they would have had to share their new songs with the public. And I can totally imagine a situation where the public would have said, 'no thanks,' with only us, now, realizing how good their first album together actually was…(a la Ram)...and maybe they would have stopped after that...or wait: Paul would not have let them stop. :-)

In my mind, I'm fond of the idea of them collaborating and writing together, with space for each of them to do their own thing, provided they still enjoyed it and were happy with the results. It's impossible to say if that would have been the case. But in some weird way, I can't imagine them becoming friends (and more?) again without also enjoying writing together. Given the drama that played out via the press in the 70’s, neither of them cared about endless questions about the past, or the burden of being Lennon/McCartney. So perhaps...they would have written together under a pseudonym?! All their lives? Until this very day? Love that thought. (Didn't John have a tour planned with Double Fantasy? For some reason, I'm not really thinking about them forming a band again, or touring together in a systematic way.)

As for their friendship/relationship/situationship—God Only Knows what the fic writer in me would have wanted for them! :-)

All I can say is that I can't imagine a sustained, fruitful musical/songwriting collaboration without imagining them being genuinely close again. I'm not trying to avoid the 'lovers' question; I think what I said would be true regardless of the degree of canoodling: I don't think they would have written together again without being fond of, and enjoying, each other. The fact that they apparently planned studio time together before John died, suggests that the curiosity (hope?) was there.

I don't think they would have written masterpieces on the level of the Beatles, had they started writing again. But I'm only saying that because my imagination is more limited than their talent.

I think their relationship in the late 70's is difficult to gauge, and I tend to avoid that time period, because, knowing what will happen to John, it makes me sad. Musically they were in a good place in ‘79/’80. But maybe, if they had met and tried to write again, they would have concluded that they were worlds apart, and that would have been that.

But maybe they would have started to co-headline certain festivals? And always been *aware* of each other?!

And you know what— there was a kinkmeme prompt once, or was it a prompt for the Summer of Love fic-a-thon? Where John Lennon lives, and is going to bat for Paul and Broad Street when it's panned by the critics. I know Paul wouldn't have made GMRTBS with John alive, but he would have been panned for something, and guess who would have come out in his defense? Regardless of shared credits and secret or spouse-endorsed canoodling? Jooooohhhhhnnnnn.

That's the kind of scenario that makes me happy.

I hope this is giving you something. I would love to hear your thoughts, too, @therealsaintscully!