#and hes such a complex and well written character

[beamorgan]

Favourite Reads of the Year

I will not be ranking these, because that would hurt my heart. Buckle up folks, there are a lot of amazing books out there

The Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells

I know, I KNOW, I'm late to the party but omg this whole series is just as good as people say!!! I know I said I wouldn't be ranking, but if I was these would be fighting for the top spot. I have already relistened to all the audiobooks. I anticipate rereading them literally every year from now on. I would die for Murderbot, which it would think is a stupid thing for a human to do when there is a SecUnit right there. [adult, scifi]

Emily Wilde's Map of the Otherlands by Heather Fawcett

Sequel to last year's fav Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries, this follows a bullheaded academic trying find the magical door that will let her faerie boyfriend back into his faerie kingdom. Chaos ensues in the Alps. It's fabulous, and the author's approach to using folklore is very similar to my own writing, which I love and also get imposter syndrome about. 10/10 recommend [adult, historical fantasy]

Model Home by Solomon Rivers

Would you like to be repeatedly punched in the gut? Look no further than this story of racism and child abuse in a Texas McMansion, with gorgeous prose and a genderqueer protagonist and the laundry list of content warnings you can expect with the genre. It hurt so good. [adult, contemporary gothic horror]

You Should Be So Lucky by Cat Sebastian

This love affair between a baseball play and a sports reporter was recced to me by the lovely @colubrina and boy was it worth the two-day binge it inspired! Romance can be very hit-or-miss for me, but this knocked it out of the park (please enjoy my pun). I didn't even have to know anything about baseball to love it! [adult, historical (1960s) romance]

The Locked Tomb Series by Tamsyn Muir

Another tumblr fav, FOR A REASON. Gideon is hilarious. Harrow is an absolute mess. Nona is BABY, my beloved. (Camilla and Palamedes have my whole entire heart). Also, the audiobook narrator is fantastic. In the words of the author, the buns are also fried chicken. [adult, sci fantasy]

Master and Commander by Patrick O'Brian

This one is @elodieunderglass's fault. Historical buffoonery on boats. The main characters are ridiculous. The sailing jargon is incomprehensible. It's great. [adult, historical fiction]

All You Can Ever Know by Nicole Chung

This is a gorgeous memoir of an interracial adoptee trying to make contact with her birth family while pregnant with her own child. It grapples thoughtfully with reconnecting to a lost culture, the complexities of family history, and the social and legal barriers adoptees face to learning about themselves. [adult, memoir]

Death in the Spires by KJ Charles

I devour everything Charles writes, so I was EXCITED for this mystery. She made it very clear on social media "It's not a kissing book!!" (it's kinda still a kissing book). She wrote a stonking book, as usual, with an underdog protagonist revisiting the murder that happened during his toxic time at Oxford university. [adult, historical mystery]

Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar

My favourite literary fiction read of the year, this meditation on Iranian diaspora identity is written by a poet and you can tell. I would suck the prose up through a straw if I could. The protagonist is an addict and also quite suicidal. It was fun :) [adult, literary fiction]

She Who Became the Sun by Shelly Parker-Chan

and the sequel, He Who Drowned the World. I don't even know how to sell this, all I want to do is flail incoherently about how amazing it is. IT'S AMAZING. JUST READ IT. (wait I know: this satisfied the part of me that was obsessed with Mulan as a kid) [adult, historical fantasy]

A Little Trickery by Roseanna Pike

The voicey-est book I've ever read. I screenshot like every other page. It follows an orphaned girl trying to survive in Tudor England through various means, such as faking a miracle in the church where her gay best friend is priest. [adult, historical fiction]

At the End of the River Styx by Michelle Kulwiki

My friend wrote a book! It made me cry!!! They were delighted with this!!! Please give this to any teenager in your life who needs to see thoughtful representation of grief and depression and boys in love. [YA, contemporary fantasy]

[rahuratna]

All right, to start with, I'm always a sucker for great world building and alternate settings, and this piece reflects exactly that. Before I get into the meat of the story, a couple of things:

This story is written in such a way that each paragraph feels like a cog in a larger timepiece, ticking inexorably to its passionate conclusion. I'm not sure how you managed that, but it contributes so much to the development of sexual tension between them, and the reader is placed on a little clockwork cart and pitched along at the pace you set. This control you exert over the pacing is just excellent.

Second, I love stories that transport you to a place of almost isolation, where descriptions of people and places are so vivid, but intentionally slip by you by like scenery on a journey, because the electricity between the main characters is your destination, what you're fixed upon. It's reflective of that true passion between lovers, where love becomes a cocoon and the world patters against the outside, never breaking the spell you cast upon one another.

As someone who worked in a lab, and moved to a profession where I'm pretty much surrounded by large numbers of people daily, I feel Nanami, lol. I would also love the quiet refuge of a place where I dedicate myself to my work. The evolution of the attraction between him and the Reader feels almost inevitable from the time she passes his test. The solution she finds is direct, breaking down a problem that seems complex into simpler parts to achieve an end,  the very essence of creating timepieces.

The sexual tension is also drawn into this theme of elaborate dance, precision and timing. Kento's hands using the Reader's to 'perform miracles', the intimacy of such a position made necessary by work, the way his presence is so strong but never overbearing, all captures the essence of Kento as a romantic/sexual partner.

Also, I LOVE the way the references to the time period make it very clear where and when we are, without ever needing to be explicitly stated. The mention of the lamplighter, of Spring Heeled Jack, were all exactly the thing I needed on this rainy afternoon. For atmosphere. Yes. Lol. I mean, yes, I too would give Reader a piece of my mind for wandering around after dark, especially after an allusion to the Whitechapel murders are made.

Please don't kill me for this: She wanted to deliver the package, but ended up with a bigger one LMAO. At least the man is self aware, he knows he's no size for a first timer. The descriptions of the undressing as an act by itself is so telling. It's such a contrast to the order and mechanical rhythm of their day to day interaction, a loss of that fine veneer of gentility, a reveal of the 'animal' beneath that Kento speaks of. The loss of clockwork to the primacy of passion, unwrapped one layer at a time, is the best backdrop for the explicit nature of what happens between them.

The action of wetting his fingers with her saliva to put out the candle is so inspired. It's almost thoughtless in execution, a tell for how much he's been fantasizing about this.

I think my favourite part of this, strangely, was the way you wrote how they approached the bed. The description of how he knows the lay of the corridor between their rooms so well, because of the number of times he's paced it, his room, a place of peace and order about to be transformed into something so much more, your description of him 'stalking' her slowly up the bed as a continuation of the theme of a beast dressed in 'fine tailoring' was what really stood out for me.

The sex scene itself was such a great juxtaposition to the charade of proper conduct they carry out in the workshop each day, and the Reader character's direct nature, seen in the way she discovers her own sexual freedom through him, is reflected so well here too.

Another thing I've picked up is that although Nanami is clearly the dominant and leading partner to begin with, and it's reflected in what he says, his actions give her agency and the ability to explore what gives her pleasure, and there's nothing hotter than that. The idea of her falling pregnant doesn't seem an unnaturally conceived notion at all, because it comes through very clearly that she knows what she wants, and she always has. It's what drew him to her in the first place.

Finally, the conversation between them after passion has spent itself; while it seems on the surface that he's returning to his clockwork self, that's not it at all. That's who he always has been, he's just allowed the Reader to take him apart, expertly with pleasure, to see his innermost workings, and put him back together after. For someone like Kento, in this fic, that's such a declaration of deep trust and love. It expands on the title even further, one watchmaker recognises another in the art and synchronicity that builds between them, and in that, finds a complete masterwork.

Thank you for this atmospheric and beautiful read on a rainy afternoon, Haitch.

The Watchmaker

Newly employed as the assistant to a renowned watchmaker, you soon discover how deeply his obsessions run.

Warnings: 18+, boss/assistant relationship, mutual longing, loss of virginity, fingering (f!receiving), nipple play, hand job (m!receiving), creampie, gentle manhandling (consensual), breeding hints, gentle period-drama Nanami snippety-snaps and becomes unhinged, two desperate people getting far too sexy over timepieces and pots of tea

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It was unusual for a lone young woman to be lodged and apprenticed by a single man; and, yet, it came to be, when you alone passed the Watchmaker's interview.

You approached on dry cobblestones, to a handsome, deep shop, with glossy black and gold railings and doors. Your corset felt heavy with the city's summer humidity; the river held the heat like a simmering pan, and its heady stench threatened to consume you. You were used to being without a chaperone, but your modest dress and poor accompaniment drew more wayward glances in this part of the city.

You hurried into the shop, a brass bell above the door tinkling your arrival. Nobody came to greet you. You followed the voices to the back, the eyes of many timepieces following you, their ticking as whispers and gossip in your wake. You came, in time, down tiled steps to a workshop, warm and bright and full of men...naturally.

A single, cursive note graced a sign before the only remaining workbench.

Repair the clock.

Such meagre instructions for a sought-after job. In golden lamplight, a pile of cogs and a loose-handed clock face glimmered like dragon hoard. You cast your eyes, stroking your corset and heavy skirts. You nodded once, and reassured yourself, only once.

"You can do this."

The Watchmaker, a tall man whose broad shoulders and thick hands did not suggest one with a delicate touch, neither agreed nor disagreed; he simply watched, silently observing you like the many faces of his timepieces. You set to work before your audience. The Watchmaker came and went, seeking to observe the half-dozen men competing alongside you.

And, in time, half a dozen sweating young men failed one, by one, by one. The Watchmaker's disgust was apparent, and his sneers soured one, by one, by one, until the last young hopeful curdled like milk before him.

When the Watchmaker came to you, you and your box of gold were not at your station. He frowned, kept company only by muted ticks and tocks. He followed your trail, out to his walled garden.

The test would have been considered a 'trick' only by those who were angry that their lack of respect for precision and accuracy had been identified. You, who could not fathom such sloppiness, found an honest solution.

"A sundial?" The Watchmaker rumbled. You felt a rush of heat from fingertips to toes, untouched by such a voice before. Smoothing your skirts again, and finishing your adjustments to hide the heat in your cheeks, you nodded.

You had fashioned your clock face and myriad small clock pieces to form a glimmering sundial. You had positioned it just so, and confirmed its position with the time shown on your own, battered pocket watch.

The Watchmaker circled you, with narrow eyes that may contain humour were they not so scrutinising. He was impeccably tailored, you noted; a high, crisp collar and rolled back white sleeves revealed enough throat and forearm to make you sweat. An exquisite navy waistcoat nipped his waist only marginally more than his tied apron, and he hummed at your sundial.

"Not what I'd call accurate."

"I disagree. While it may not be very precise, it is accurate. The cogs for the clock couldn't be set in such a way as to make the seconds correct. They were always just out. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

He almost smiled; his eyes certainly did. Nodding, and not one for hyperbolic praise, he bowed, instead.

"Nanami Kento. I would be privileged to offer you the role as my apprentice."

The earth formed a springboard, launching you to heaven, and it wrenched the breath from your lungs on the way. Checking yourself before you babbled over with incredulous tears, you choked out an answer on a sloppy curtsey.

"Even though-- even though I'm a woman?"

A scoff. "I don't see how that's relevant."

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Mr.Nanami sought your constant presence.

A natural timekeeper, himself, he sought the company of those like him, who would not expect him to partake in social niceties and small-talk. It was no wonder, then, that he became a Watchmaker, whose many-natured friends had the same face but twice a day.

While Nanami Kento was normally at peace in ticking solitude, the many hands and ceaseless seconds had eventually, as the years went by, begun to grind into an aching loneliness.

You felt it, as summer crisped to autumn, and frosted to winter-- his desire for your company. The way his obsession bloomed to include you alongside his timepieces. The way he lingered in doorways while you handled the customers' repairs. The way he seemed breathless when your smile sent another happy patron on their way. The way he would flinch if you brushed past him.

And god, how it burned you. Eyes downcast in reverence could not remain so for long, so magnetised were they to him. His silences were rarely cold, but rather, simply those of one who held his tongue until he had something to say; a far cry from the men you knew, who sought to usurp the monarchial peace through vocal domination.

Learning such craft at Mr.Nanami's thick, calloused hands, required intimate proximity; he would have to lean around you, at points, with his chest to your back. He moved your hands within his, teaching you the dexterity needed to repair a tiny watch with surgical precision. He leaned like this around you now. You could barely breathe.

"You were not wrong. Though not strictly right, either," he murmured in your ear, his breath grazing over your cheek. His hands held the tools in yours, using your body to perform miracles. You felt faint, flushed, hot against his body, and breathed a shaking breath, quiet in your frustration so as not to disturb the sleeping cogs.

"I want to be perfect, I-- I need it--"

An amused hum, used to your angry tiny mechanics. "You are perfect, thank you. Now let us make the pocket watch match."

As your hands worked in tandem, and another impossibly tiny cog found its home, you gasped in delight, relieved, and not thinking.

"Ah, yes, Kento, we--"

Mr.Nanami stiffened behind you. You backpedaled.

"Ah-- I mean, Mr.Nanami-- I'm so sorry--"

He did not seem upset, though his ears reddened as he stepped away from you. He murmured again, unused to being perceived.

"No, no-- it's quite alright-- I use your given name, after all."

With his face flat but his eyes alight, when you looked up at him in wary apology, he sought to reassure you with a smile.

"Really, please-- please do call me Kento."

"It feels...wrong."

"I...would not seek to make you uncomfortable. It is entirely of your preference."

Your heart drowned out the whispering whirrs of the room. You heard the tap of Mr.Nanami's feet as he ascended the workshop stairs, and blurted out.

"--Kento, I'll...I'll call you Kento. Please."

A pause. Another silence. Kento's voice tightened with something altogether more intimate.

"I fear I shall get used to it far too quickly."

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Too long were you lingering in your respective doorways, before bed. Too sweet, were the shared evenings in a firecrackle sitting room. Too electrifying, were the hands that met to pour just one more cup. Too intentional were the slim-eyed stares that burned down to the very bones of you.

If you died, and committed your body to science, the ghost of you would be unsurprised if a surgeon found Nanami Kento's name scored across your ribs; for nobody else could access that cage to your heart and soul.

Nobody else could warm you, during Winter fairs on the frozen river.

Nobody else could take your hand, to help you down the stairs at the Timepiece Exhibition.

Nobody else could still you with a look, or teach you with such few words, and this was so wrong, so wrong, he's your teacher your mentor your--

Your peak hit you in a burst of static. You clasped your hand over your own mouth, as if it would sell you out for your filthy crimes. Still, you arched in your bed, your toes curling against the sheets, bucking up into nothing in waves. Clarity did not hit you after, for it had already hit you during, and had done nothing to still your fingers.

Rolling over, and pressing your face into your pillow after the ecstasy had passed, you held your breath. It was too quiet.

Your eyes sprung open. The muffled bustling you had heard from the bedroom next door, had stopped. You weren't sure when. The silence was deafening...until movement started again, more clipped than it had been before. You could feel him, moving with irritation, a prowling beast in a cage.

It was over an hour before Kento's own hand travelled down his belly, to grasp himself with whispered curses and pleas of your name. Long enough, he hoped, for you to be asleep. Long enough, he hoped, that he could hide this rampant obsession that was so wrong, so wrong, he's your teacher your mentor your--

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"I should think I'll be home for tea. Inspector Aberline's grandfather clock again. It has stage fright, I fear, for how often the Inspector stares at it."

Kento's words, from hours before, rolled through your mind again and again. The smile you had sent your final patron of the day on his way with, slipped away, for you saw the lamplighter beginning his rounds on the cobbles outside. The sun had already set; he was late, tonight. You'd have offered him a lantern, but without Kento beside you, you felt you would need its warmth and light more.

Your eyes flickered to a package on the desk. It was imperative, Kento had said, that this was delivered to the customer today. 'Today', as a concept, was growing increasingly more abstract as it threatened to expire.

You saw the deep, dark circles under Kento's eyes, in your mind's eye. He had not been sleeping well. He needed the rest. You could not bear to see him overburdened.

Taking a deep breath, and undoing your apron to replace it for your heavy coat and gloves, you tucked the package under your arm, locked up to the tune of the tinkling bell, and stole away through the night like a thief in the dark.

Clacking across cobblestones, and trying to diminish the noise of your boots upon them, you walked for what felt like miles. Though you were sure you were safe, in this part of the city, the darkness turned shadows into beasts of great renown.

Spring-Heeled Jack stalked you from the shadows. You clutched the package closer, walking faster, breathing harder--

"What the hell are you doing out here, at this time of night?"

You squealed, and flattened against a red brick wall. Kento, imperious and huge in a heavy brown overcoat, glowered down at you with unbridled rage.

"The package," you squeaked, brandishing it as a shield, "you said-- said it needed to be delivered--"

"And it is not your place to take it upon yourself to do so. Returning to find you gone, out delivering a bloody package, while there's a killer on the loose? Extraordinary." The coldness that Kento reserved only for others, now directed at you, was a bitter sting.

Still; Kento held out his arm, stiff. His lip curled when you did not immediately take it. He grew frosty as he waited, and you slipped your arm into his, to a mollified grumble.

"Come," Kento rumbled, arresting you in a hold so intimate against his side, "let us not waste a journey. The customer isn't far from here. It shall give you time to think about your foolish choices."

You felt furious tears prickle behind your eyes. Like a dog with a bone, Kento struggled to let his anger go, and you snapped up at him, "Give it a rest. You're not my husband--"

"--yet, if it would allow me any sort of say over your safety, perhaps I should be your husband." Kento had frozen, looming over you. Your belly twisted, your face hot. You turned aside, chastised like a child.

"I'm no girl," you whispered, venomous, "I can take care of myself--"

"In a world that places no value on women, why should you ever feel safe? Out here, instead of in my--"

It was Kento's turn to redden. His jaw clenched. His fingers tapped upon the package. You felt righteous anger bubbling over, and rolled the dice, in a stabbing final gambit.

"In your what, sir? In your workshop? In your arms? Or in your bed?"

Kento's stony impassivity was tested, but remained steadfast even against your snapping. But you knew him, now; you saw how his chest hitched, heard his knuckles crack, and caught the faintest flare of his nostrils. Ducking his head for a moment, and dramatised by lamplit shadow, he stepped in just once to whisper above your ear.

"You forget yourself. I am your mentor, and you are my assistant, and--"

"--and I've had enough of you pretending that's all we are--"

"--and it's hard enough not bursting into your room at night when I hear your fingers drag my name from your mouth, so if you will be so kind as to cease and desist, I will not have to press you against this damn wall to hold your tongue with my own."

His hissing reproach doused the argument with ice water. Numb-footed and stunned, you walked through treacle, as Kento dragged you to deliver the package. Your chest was still thickened by mortification by the time you approached the Watchmakers' familiar iron railings.

You found yourself pressed inside, hearing the door bolted with force. Kento's hands softened as they removed your coat from your shoulders.

"Bed," he snapped. Kento turned his back to you to light a waxdrip candle. White shirtsleeves billowed from the shoulders of his waistcoat, and he checked his pocket watch as if it would give him the answer. You reached one hand out, to bunch in the back of his waistcoat, as if a child, and he snapped again.

"Alone."

You flinched. You closed your eyes, and took a deep breath. You swallowed hard, rolling the dice again.

"I hear you, too. In your room at night. The walls are thin."

"So is my patience, young lady, I will not tolerate--"

"You treat me like a girl to distance yourself from me, but pleasure yourself to my name? Please. You can make a fool of yourself but don't make a fool out of me--"

Kento spun with a growl, lifting you by the waist to drop you upon the counter. You squeaked, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself when he closed the gap between you.

"Do not act as if you know," Kento whispered, low and slow, "what it's like to feel like an animal in fine tailoring. Do not act as if you know what it means to be reduced so, that I must spill myself onto my belly every night, to preserve your virtue.

I do not blame you, naturally-- it's my burden entirely-- but if you add one more ounce to my shoulders with that incorrigible little mouth of yours, I'm afraid your virtue shall be...under threat."

You couldn't deny the heat pooling between your thighs, now, trapped as it was by Kento's taut body. You couldn't deny your craving for such fabled bliss.

"How does it feel," you whispered, your hand creeping up the buttons of his waistcoat to stroke the silk of his cravat, "Kento? How does it feel? Do you use your hand, or--"

An agonal little choke broke past Kento's high collar. His eyes begged you to stop him. You felt his long fingers twitch on your waist.

"Do not ask me--"

"Please," you whispered again, just as desperate as him, "please, I need to know, I can't keep living life in the dark--"

"My hand," Kento choked out, his chest barrelling with the weight of his breaths, "I use my hand. But even in the dark, I can't seem to convince myself that it-- that it's--"

You felt him falter, and you begged him, your tugging loosening his cravat enough to see his throat bob behind it. Kento whined, begging in kind. His face twisted, as if the thuds of pleasure lengthening his cock were hurting him. The torture was sweet; you felt it, too.

"Don't make me say it," Kento pleaded, nose to nose and nuzzling from side to side, "I can't take it--"

"You can-- you can take me--"

"--you don't know what you're saying--"

"--I do, Kento, please--"

"--don't know what you're sacrificing--"

"--you wouldn't," you pressed, feeling his hands moving against his wishes to unbutton the back of your dress, "you wouldn't sacrifice me, I know, so just--"

Kento groaned, a sound so sinful, just to feel your dress release and slip down over your shoulders. Pinching the ends of your sleeves, with his fingertips grazing your palms and inner wrists until you shivered, he pulled. A gossamer shift of white ghosted over your skin.

"So many layers, upon a lady," Kento murmured against your lips, "like unwrapping a gift."

He sounded drunk, and the honeyrich pools of his eyes had darkened. You couldn't pinpoint the moment his resolve had crumbled, but crumble it did, with the tick-tocking eyes of many upon you. Kento grazed his fingers against your lips, ordering in a whisper.

"Open." You didn't have to, your jaw already slack as promise burned you at the edges. Kento swiped his thumb and forefinger across your tongue with a groan, and reached out, snuffing the candle between them.

What dim light there had been, died. None that breathed would hold court or witness to what Kento was about to do to your virtue.

"This will not happen only once," Kento murmured against your neck, his tongue darting out to taste you until you mewled. He cursed to hear it, becoming more unhinged by the minute. "I will take your maidenhood as a lover, but take your hand as my wife. You cannot refuse."

You could refuse-- you knew you could, in absolute safety, but such refusal would take his mouth from you with immediate effect. His hands would cease their insistent glide up, and up, beneath your skirts. He would stop rutting forwards against nothing, with each whimper that left your lips. He would no longer drag your bodice down with his teeth, to suckle at the plump swell of your breasts.

You nodded, breathless, your hands shaking against the buttons of Kento's waistcoat. He grunted as it fell open, and your hands settled upon his waist. His graze against your neck was more insistent, now, and sloppier; hungry, open mouthed kisses that suckled the salt from your skin. Occasionally, you heard him murmur, begging to you, or to his god, or to himself, for any sort of release.

Overtaken by need, you finished unbuttoning his trousers, and tangled your fingers in his hair, instead.

"Don't know what you're doing," Kento mumbled, drunker by the minute, "going to ruin you, I-- I'll ruin you-- I'm no sensible size for a virgin--"

"So you suggest I find some other man?" You panted, "You suggest I find someone smaller--"

"They don't fucking deserve you," Kento spat, forcing the last of your skirts up to grind himself at your core until you whined. With your corset untied, Kento tossed it to the floor behind him with disdain, and yanked the final layer down to free your breasts.

Shuddering, he gripped his cock to restrain himself.

"Divine," Kento whispered, ducking to nuzzle against the tips of your breasts, "I have to-- please allow me to--"

Without waiting for an answer, Kento lapped your nipple into his mouth with a groan. Suckling until you pleaded his name, with hot bursts of pleasure to your core, Kento's hands reached the crest of your thighs, and groaned to find more layers in the way.

"Buy you some more," he grunted against your breasts, gripping the fabric between strong fingers to shred it apart, "my apologies-- now, just-- oh, fuck, I--"

His fingers had slipped between your folds to glide through them. Needing to see you arch against the sudden intrusion, Kento pressed you back until you were lying on the counter, and loomed over you. You caught sight of him for the first time in minutes.

Kento was utterly dishevelled, unabashed, and too far gone. With his cravat and waistcoat hanging loose, and a long, thick swell beneath what remained of his unbuttoned trousers, he looked more debauched than your wildest fantasies. He twitched with the spurt of pre-cum that left his cock, to see you spread out before him.

Sniffing, and dragging one hand back through his parted hair, Kento scoffed at your look of glassy-eyed wonderment. His fingers curled through your lips until that sought-after arch graced his eyes, and you mewled again, your thighs clamping around his hips

"More than one of us can be reduced to a beast," he growled, circling your clit with calloused fingertips, "as you have insisted. I've taught you with these fingers before. Let us teach you something new; how it feels to peak upon the hands of a man."

"--o-oh god, oh god oh god--"

A bark of laughter, "--he won't help you now--"

"--oh, sir--"

"Try again."

"K-Kento!" You chastised through blinding pleasure. Kento chuckled again, intoxicated and made ruthless by it, and holding you flat by the belly as his hands worked miracles on your core.

"That's it-- good girl--"

The way he praised you had always brought you to a blush, but how he growled his praises while he fingered you to completion was another entity entirely.

Your hips rolled up, trying to fill the emptiness that his fingers alone couldn't. Your body was rendered base with pleasure, and nature's insistence that such passiveness should be used to leave your belly full of seed.

You could see that, too, in his eyes; an urge; a hunger that belied his gentle nature. In sudden clarity, you understood his cry of agony, from mere minutes before: 'Do not act as if you know what it's like to feel like an animal in fine tailoring.'

"--K-Kento, I-- I don't know if I'll-- it's too much, aches-- augh--"

Your approaching peak threatened to overwhelm you, and you squirmed and begged, though you knew not what for. Kento pinned you, with one splayed hand on your belly, and whispered you on.

"That's it-- don't be afraid...shhh, now. Good girl-- that's it-- beautiful--"

You came with thigh-clamping bursts of ecstasy, so sharp and static by the hands of another, that your belly ached and cramped with the force of the spasms. Kento's fingers slowed, massaging the pleasure out of you at length, though you could feel his body growing heavy with the weight of self-restraint.

You felt yourself twitching, crunching forwards involuntarily, with little more than broken whimpers and cries as he talked you down. Though, as clarity dawned in supple bliss, you felt he may be trying to talk himself down.

"...good...that's good, that's enough, I...I am satisfied, I..."

Kento lied to himself so exquisitely, as if he didn't palm his cock with one trembling hand. As if he hadn't pulled his shirt off to relieve the prickling heat of his skin. As if he couldn't kiss you because that, oddly, would be the intimacy that broke the dam.

You broke it for him, sitting up and wrapping your arms around his neck so he couldn't rear away from you. He tried, at first, with a grunt of surprise, gripping you by the waist. Feeling your lips against his rendered him dumb again, feral and nuzzling his nose to yours, like an addict in a field of poppies.

"Please-- I'm afraid I won't-- won't be gentle--"

"Bed," you whispered against his lips, "not alone."

Kento groaned again, cupping his hands beneath your thighs to lift you, and carry you up the narrow wooden staircase. He knew every shoeworn step in the dark; knew where the corridor dipped; knew the amount of steps between his bedroom door and yours, so many times had he paced between the two.

With his curtains un-drawn, only the cold winter moonlight lit the room. Meticulous, uniform possessions left meticulous, uniform shadows. The whole room smelled of Kento; of soft wax, leather and musk. In his room, in his arms as one leg flicked the door deftly closed behind him, felt like being brought home.

"If I show you how," Kento whispered, laying you on his bed, just to stalk you slowly up to his pillows, "will you...can I..."

You'd have said yes to anything. Without knowing exactly what Kento asked for, you nodded. He saw the absolute trust in your eyes, and stiffened, his eyes darkening with something more profound than need.

"Do you know what physical love entails?" He rumbled, nosing against your neck again, and depriving you of the first kiss you so desperately craved. "Do you know what it is, to be taken?"

You swallowed hard, feeling lead weights in your still twitching belly. You cursed the society that had sought your submission through ignorance.

"We...are supposed to fit together," you whispered, to Kento's satisfied rumble. Stil, it was not enough; you knew he would not continue past his insistent suckling of your throat, if you showed true ignorance, so you mumbled past your blushes.

"You...press yourself inside me, until...until you..."

"...go on."

"Until...you finish, like--like--"

"...like you did, on my fingers. Except, your completion simply fills my soul...metaphorically speaking. My completion fills you literally."

Your hand had trailed down his bare chest, reverent at his form, so different to your own and witnessed before only in fine art and statues. He didn't stop you as your hand trailed lower. He simply fixed you with a stare, that was half hope and half despair.

With rising breaths, you looked down between your bodies as you freed him. Animalistic relief twitched across Kento's shoulders, for the release from his confines. He groaned into your throat, husky in a way that made you throb. You longed to see his pleasure as he had seen yours.

Tentative, you grazed his length with the barest fingertips. Rigid, woody, hot, velvety, wet at the tip and so long and--

"Oh," you breathed, gripping him and feeling his heartbeat through his sex, and utterly unsure what you had expected, "feels...good--"

Kento breathed harshly, and had dropped onto his elbows above you, his face twisted in agony. He panted, fractious.

"Don't-- do not--"

Your hand flinched away, horrified for having hurt him, and he cursed, rolling off you to sit, strewn and messy and barely dressed, against the head of the bed. Your eyes fixed again on his manhood, heavy and twitching against his belly.

"I won't touch-- I'm sorry--"

"Don't stop," Kento emphasised, breathless, "don't...dont stop."

With a flush of heat in your cheeks, you understood the nature of Kento's agony, and it only made you hungrier. Crawling over him in the barest white undergown, to straddle his thighs and sit upon them, you reached out to grip him with one trembling hand again. Kento arched, moaning that rusty, desperate moan again.

"Show me? Like you do in...in the workshop."

"God, your hand is so sweet--" With his own hand, big enough to engulf yours, he wrapped around your grip to his length. Slowly, deliberately, and watching where your hands clasped around him with sweat on his brow, Kento used your hand to pump himself.

Feeling the glide of silk on iron made your core wetten and clench. Watching how Kento moaned, bucking into your joined fists and reaching up behind him to grip the pillows, was hypnotic. Within seconds, your hand had begun to move independently of his, stroking him with raw determination to witnessq his unravelling.

Kento groaned in time with your rhythmic strokes. His newly freed fist bunched, instead, at your hip, having rucked your slip aside to dimple shaking fingertips in the plush of your curves. You began to squeeze a little tighter at the tip, twisting a little, and making Kento see stars.

"Hah--haaaaah-- don't-- don'tstop-- better than any dream-- good girl, please, please--"

Your thumb swiped without warning across a bead of wetness that had seeped from the slit in his tip, and Kento swore, bucking hard enough to make you chirp and grip his thighs for purchase.

"--wait--wait-- I'll spill in your hand, wait--"

This didn't deter you; if anything, it spurred you on to faster and faster strokes. Kento writhed, sweating and gripping, and you watched the heavy balls beneath his length tighten up, and--

"--ungh--coming--don'tstop...unh--"

Kento's whole body tensed. His face fixed in divine ecstasy. You watched his length jerk in your fist with thick, warm glugs of sticky white seed. You stared, your new obsession making you want to stroke Kento's release between your folds, but you held him instead, feeling him rut into your fist to chase his high.

After what felt like a lifetime, Kento came back to earth, with a heavy chest. While lax, for now, something in the way he looked at you, kneeling above him and examining the way his release dripped down your forearm, told you he was barely sated.

"Always were a...a fast learner."

"Well, you always wrote me off as a child--"

"I did not," Kento huffed, a mortified, angry flush colouring his cheekbones, "I knew exactly the woman you were. I do not lust after girls. If I didn't separate you, I knew I would...I knew we would..."

You nodded. You had both fought to convince yourself against such inevitability. Pondering, and curiously disappointed in the aftermath of Kento's pleasure, you stroked his slippery length in your hand again.

"You're...still hard."

Kento's eyes flicked down, that animalistic hunger taking seed in his eyes again. When he spoke, it was low, and barely measured.

"It would not usually, but-- but feeling you above me, so close that I could flip you over and trap you beneath me, I--"

You felt your breath leaves your lungs at once. Kento winced, disgusted with himself, but you snatched it away before it could take root.

"Please-- I want that, please--"

"With all this seed, and more to come after I bury myself inside you, you will be with child within days," Kento spat, gripping your cum-slick wrists to stop you stroking another orgasm out of him. Kento froze; having been about to throw you off, he saw the look in your eyes. The look of willingness. That sheer determination that had taken you as his apprentice in the first place.

"You like that," he mused aloud, enraptured as you lifted your undergown away to reveal yourself in your entirety. With your wrists gripped in one broad hand, the other stroked down between your breasts, to settle, stroking, on the soft plush of belly just above your mound.

"You...like that? The thought of a part of me, growing inside you? The thought of me spilling myself so deep, it has nowhere to go but your belly?"

The thought made you lightheaded. Why? Why was the thought of the same sticky release that coated your hands, inside you instead, so alluring? Beast in fine tailoring a beast in fine tailoring a beast--

Kento rolled you over. The strength you always knew he had, carefully restrained by waistcoat and pocket chains, bore down upon you now. He kicked away his trousers, desperate to be as bare as you, and brought his sheets over his hips to bury you both in a warm little den. You shivered to feel his length rest on your belly and mound, so close to where you wanted him.

Kento shook his head, trying to see logic, "If I finish inside you-- you really will be in danger of bearing my child, you..."

His voice had faded, gobsmacked as you stroked your seed covered fingers between your folds, mulish and clipped.

"There," you snipped, "I've already covered myself in you, so that's that--"

"You are utterly feral, this is what I get for bringing a guttersnipe into my workshop--"

"--so you might as well just finish the deed, sir, because--"

Kento laughed, overjoyed by your fearless audacity. His lip curled, and he reached down again to stroke his sticky seed between your folds.

"You think that's what I meant by inside?" He pressed, so close to the entrance you had never sought to penetrate, "You think I meant here? No, my love...I meant here."

You squeaked to feel Kento press one thick finger at your entrance. You felt the briefest sting of resistance, felt yourself clench and buck. Kento stopped, and pressed a first kiss to your lips, so sweet that you rushed through a wildflower meadow in summer.

He stroked circles just inside your entrance, loosening you with the slick of his seed, and kissing you with an intimacy that felt so much more than all the sordid deeds you had stolen from each other so far.

"And when I say 'here'," Kento continued, his breathing getting heavier, "I meant deeper. Much deeper than my fingers could reach. In truth, I would rather break your maidenhood with my cock, than my fingers. Some...filthy little part of me, I think. I loathe it. But, since we are well past being dishonest with each other..."

"Want that, please--" you babbled, squeaking with the promise of being filled with the rod you felt dragging on your belly, "--please, do it, I need to know, need you--"

"You beg like you mean to corrupt," Kento grumbled, pressing a little harder against your entrance and shivering as you squeaked, "I was a good man before this...I think. Shhhh, shh shh...that's it...soften you up...good girl."

"Not a girl," you gasped, your voice breaking and your nails digging into Kento's shoulders. He laughed, a full, rich, deep laugh of genuine delight. He pressed a kiss to your forehead as his fingers were replaced by his cockhead.

"You are right," he rumbled, nuzzling his nose to yours again, "you're certainly not. At least...you won't be, in a moment." Nose to nose with you, and whispering into your mouth, Kento pressed insistently forwards, "Hold onto me."

You did, feeling a brief sting, and stretched and stretched and stretched and--...full. You whimpered, bringing your legs around Kento to embrace all of him to you. He grunted, and gasped, pulled to bottom out within you, when he had meant to take you slowly. You clung him inside you as he moved to pull out, and begged, afraid it was already over.

"Nonono-- don't come out-- stay--"

Kento bucked into you involuntarily, and groaned a godless sound, arching up and gripping the headboard, white-knuckled.

"Got to-- got to move, to-- to finish...but at this rate--Christ, you'll kill me-- god, can't-- can't finish straight away like a boy--"

If the pleasure of being locked into the warm, wet drag of your pussy hadn't almost taken Kento to the edge, the way you looked up at him with glassy adoration would. He moaned again, another certain stepping stone to damnation.

One more glance at you had Kento planting one forearm above your head, and plaiting his fingers with yours upon the pillow. He gasped, trying not to take you too roughly, and finally, whispered again.

"Hold onto me."

Smooth, and fluid, and with the barest scraps of self control, you saw stars to feel Kento drag his cock back to your entrance, only to fill you again. You felt the thickfriction drag, and its bursts of belly-deep pleasure than rendered you oddly submissive. You revelled in it; drugged, and sighing, your eyes slipping closed.

The drunken animal in Kento had returned in force.

"...feels...weird...good--- don't stop, Ken--"

"--sh-shit, won't last-- I'm sorry--"

Kento watched you in wonderment. Whatever pleasure your ripe core gave him, could not compare to that given to him by your face; your mewls, and sighs, and whispers.

You couldn't seem to whisper his name, though; it tasted so sweet upon your tongue, that you could not bear to let it go.

You could feel Kento losing his ragged self-control. Watching your face, the plush bounce of your breasts, and the way your thighs spread against your belly every time he fucked into you, was an otherworldly delight. You took it; gladly. Your pleasure built strangely-- deeper, and more powerful, and yet not quite enough.

Your fingers sauntered down your belly. In your addled, fucked-into state, you barely noticed what you were doing. Kento noticed, though, and growled, a droplet of sweat dropping from his forehead between your breasts. His thrusts deepened, harder and faster and desperate for orgasm.

"F-fuck...just like that...just like you do at night-- my name--"

"Ke...Ken--"

"My name."

"Kento," you half-sobbed, lost in his promise to fill you with the sticky cum that had dropped down your hand, "please--pleasepleaseplease--"

"--the begging, fuck, I'm-- I'm done, I'm-- ungh, fuck--"

You knew Kento must be finishing. You felt him twitching, and jerking, within the snug gripping heat of your cunt, ruined by him as per his promise. You felt the curious warm spill somewhere deep inside you.

You knew the look of bliss upon his face. Your fingers, still rolling the remnants of his seed around your clit, moved faster and faster and faster--

You arched, seconds after Kento's own peak had begun, into your own. You heard the headboard crack under Kento's grip, heard the rhythmic, fractured moans that may have been his and may have been yours, too lost were you both in oblivion.

The world may have completed one full turn. Struggling to hold himself up, Kento shook, dopey and half-asleep after filling you as he had threatened. You locked him within you, and held him like a lead blanket, nuzzling into his throat.

"Just...stay there. Stay. I like it."

"That feels...indecent," Kento mumbled into your neck. His uncharacteristic colloquialism was winding back again, and you felt the clipped man in the waistcoat and pocket chain returning to earth. You whispered, to his devilish laugh.

"How are we supposed to make watches together after that?"

"Carefully. Very, very carefully. As husband and wife."

"...oh."

[mittenslikescats]

Shadow was actually amazing this year

like he was written so well in Shadow gen, prime and in the movie. Like holy hell they’ve made it from an edgelord to actually being a complex character again

[boredlore]

I know this has already been said but PEOPLE ARE ALLOWED TO BE CRITICAL OF SEASON TWO OF ARCANE.

Listen, I love Arcane. Season 1 was beautifully written. The acting and animation is nothing short of epic across both seasons and the soundtrack is fantastic. But I don’t think Season 2 was as well written as Season 1.

I wasn’t expecting a happy ending and I don’t think anyone was. But I was expecting a more satisfying ending, for all of the characters.

In S1 most of the plot was the direct result of choices the characters made. And we could understand the rationale behind those choices and even minor characters like Marcus felt fleshed out. That complexity was missing from several S2 characters, ESPECIALLY Caitlyn’s task force. Maddie was Just a turncoat when Marcus’ motivation for his betrayal was clear. He wanted to climb the ranks and then he got stuck serving a kingpin to protect his daughter. Maddie is just a bad person.

And before anyone starts shouting about media literacy and analyzing the visuals given to us: I watched the show, I analyzed the visuals and I have been thinking about it for weeks. The thing is, in good writing, a character’s motivation should be clear from the first watch. Marcus’ cowardice wasn’t told to us by some obscure blink and you miss it background detail, it was an integral part of the story.

Loris was another character I wish we had gotten to know better beyond being Vi’s friend who shows up sometimes. His death should have hit so much harder but we knew next to nothing about him.

This season felt like a lot of the characters were being pushed around by the plot instead of actively influencing it. The characters that were supposed to seem powerful, didn’t because they lacked the agency season 1 characters had.

Season 2 wasn’t a bad season but I don’t think it measured up to the bar that season 1 set. Act 1 of season two felt the most like the Arcane I fell in love with.

[cameronwillow]

Rafe Cameron is not a rapist.

I’m sure you’ve all seen posts like this but I’m gonna add to it.

It is absolutely no secret that I like writing dark fiction. I’ve written it for years, engaged with dark kinks and I’ve even posted educational material for others. I have written non-con before. So I fully know the difference in these topics and terms.

This isn’t a post saying “Don’t write it.” You’re gonna do what you want, even I have written it before and some have probably found a few pieces I’ve written to be too dark.

But I am truly tired of seeing Rafe Cameron, who never sexually assaulted anyone, to be written as such. Notice how I didn’t excuse anything he did? No I didn’t. He did murder someone. He did try to kill his sister. He was a bully. And he’s still not a nice person.

He’s complex. He was written to be a layered person.

JJ Maybank is also a complex character who has dark instincts. If he was given the opportunity, he would have done violent acts as well. Maybe even worse.

Rape isn’t a kink. If anything in fiction, it’s a fantasy. But Rafe Cameron NEVER did that or even ATTEMPTED to. This is completely not his character. And logically, “oh well he killed someone he would also-“ No because if that were true, he would have done it in the show. That’s just common sense.

If you’re gonna write him behaving that way, then tag it as it is. An AU of rape. Yes I’m using the actual word because that’s what it is.

Yeah this is full shaming. And I’m saying it with my whole chest as someone who writes dark fics, has written non-con and has watched OBX multiple times.

Rafe Cameron never fucking RAPED anyone or would have. If anything he would be a victim of it himself.

If this feels personal, then maybe you should check yourself and really make sure your content is labeled. And hidden so no one has to see things that could trigger them.

As someone who’s been sexually assaulted multiple times, I get why it’s written and read. So remember that before anyone tries to say, “Well some victims use it to cope.” Yeah I know I am a victim.

Do better.

[frannyzooey]

I have been devouring long form fics on Ao3 and mannnnnnnnnnn alive did this one absolutely incinerate me 😭😭

It has every single thing you could ever want: a meet cute, a slow burn love, complex characters, a love struck Joel Miller 😍

Ngl, this is so well written that I started getting a little bashful about the thought of you reading anything I wrote because ma'am!!! Your talent is intimidating as all get out --

The way you captured Joel in this fic was perfection -- everything about him: the way he shows care through action rather than words, his inner monologue, his actual dialogue. (Speaking of dialogue, you have such a handle on writing and formatting concise conversations that read like they would flow irl, I'm in awe at your revision skills)

He was so sweet and perfect in this, it was easy to fall in love with him ❤️ their phone conversations had me bursting at the seams with giddiness, and then the smut!! When he drove break neck speed to get to her house on that first weekend, I was literally on the edge of my fucking seat ready for it to happen -- you write tension so well, and you drew it out perfectly 😭

Reading on Ao3 makes it hard to copy/paste the passages/lines I loved, but I will tell you this:

There were too many to count anyway.

You're a phenomenal writer, and I am so thankful that you share your talent with us. I cannot wait to devour the rest of your masterlist ❤️

SEE YOU AT THREE

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Pairing: Young!Joel x f!Reader OC (Ellie's aunt)

Status: In progress

SUMMARY: When your sister starts working nights, you're stuck with afterschool pickup duty for your eight-year-old niece. You love the kid, so you don't mind. And, sure—maybe you don't mind having an excuse to check out her classmate's dad, Joel, five times a week, either. Pre-Outbreak / No-Outbreak AU Chapters alternate between Reader POV & Joel's POV

READ ON AO3 | masterlist

❤️‍🩹 painting of anna in chapter 15 by @yopossum 📷 nelle's instagram grid (modern!au)

chapter links & content warnings below the cut!

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 chapter 4 | chapter 5 | chapter 6 chapter 7 | chapter 8 | chapter 9 chapter 10 | chapter 11 | chapter 12 chapter 13 | chapter 14 | chapter 15 chapter 16 (new dec 14th!) more coming soon!

*number of chapters not final - more to come!

CW: Eventual smut (unprotected piv, f!oral m!oral, creampie, cockwarming, a touch of praise kink) Yearning, mutual pining, occasional drunkenness. Light miscommunication but hopefully not a tortuous amount. joel being so in love it's disgusting. Reference to and discussions of divorce and single parenthood. Will add more as needed as series progresses!

[exhelluvafan]

I will never NOT be pissed about the writing of Stella, just to make Stolas look good. The abuse angle thing was only ever told and then just...brushed away. Then she gets sidelined for her brother, when she could have done basically everything he's done.

She can be dead for all of it matters for her character, because Andrealphus is now the one wanting everything from Stolas. Go ahead and write Stella out entirely from the show, have Andrealphus be the one to have hired Striker.....and nothing changes.

The 'abuse' thing was only to ever absolve Stolas from the cheating and everyone should realize this, not good writing sorry and it STILL amounts to nothing because Andrealphus takes the spotlight!

DING! DING! HELLO PEOPLE, S1 is POINTLESS REALIZE THAT!

I agree with you, Anon, the "Stella abusing Stolas" plot point was actually added in as a way to justify and excuse Stolas' cheating, ending up not being either an excuse or justification because cheating is unforgivable no matter what, even if Viv believes otherwise.

And also, you're right as well, Stella could be easily written out of the show and nothing would literally change as Andrealphus could easily take the place of Stella, since Andre is the supposedly cunning and actively malicious one, while Stella was dumbed down to a screaming, annoying one dimensional bitch.

Man, I miss the Instagram era of the show, since Instagram Stella was shown to be a deeply complex character and not a bitch that was born evil, she actually was nice and more pleasant than the Stella we currently have and even showing how the cheating had hurt her specifically, but since Viv cannot allow any nuance to her female characters, all that development went straight to the trash.

And lastly, while I enjoy Helluva S1, I do agree that it became pointless since S2 retconned EVERYTHING that S1 had established, but at the same time, S2 makes references to S1 sometimes which is so confusing since S1 could be easily considered not canon at this point, but despite that, Viv and co. keep making references to it.

At least that helps to keep a canon divergence between S1 and S2, since these two seem from two different shows, one that was decent and the other that became a fanfiction of a show that doesn't exist.

[afurtivecake]

I'm not sure if I'm the only one who notices the aftg fandom tendency to infantilize victims of abuse but the way some people here talk about jean like he's made of glass sounds so weird and patronizing to me. I remember reading the part where cat suggests that there might be nice to explore his sexuality and pleasure now that he's in a safer environment that allows him to do it and thinking oh well that makes sense and it's sweet that she found a playful way to talk about an awkward topic (sex and pleasure) and then I'm on tumblr and there's people saying that she practically made fun of his sexual assault I mean ? did she? jean was embarrassed but that was it. it wasn't malicious at all and trust me I think jean is familiar enough with malice and cruelty to know what it looks like. ANYWAY I wanted your thoughts on the subject since ur not the type to jump on moralist rants or interpreting a character with such bad faith. I always like to read what you have to say!

funny you should mention this, anon, i do have a fic wip where cat teases jean about him watching jeremy, and jean being in a bit of a funny headspace at the time goes into a spiral. and in it, jean knows that his reaction isn't about cat or what cat said and he's not angry or upset with her. and the fic isn't really about jean and cat, it's about jean and his trauma.

because, you see, i think the thing about trauma is that it is inconvenient. the person with the trauma doesn't want to have the trauma responses that they have. they don't want it to pop up in response to things that they logically KNOW are fine and safe. it's really really frustrating! but sometimes they can't help it. sometimes they're not even conscious of what exactly triggered them. but that doesn't mean whoever or whatever triggered the response are to blame or that they need to change their behaviour.

it's like neil and wymack in tfc when wymack shouts at neil when neil drops the coffee beans and neil spooks. neil explains to wymack that he KNOWS wymack doesn't mean to hurt him and that wymack isn't even actually angry, but he can't help the way he reacts. at no point does neil blame wymack and wymack doesn't substantially change how he behaves around neil either. they just sort of learn how each other works as neil slowly becomes more comfortable around the foxes.

i don't think jean actually blames cat (or even thea, for that matter) for saying something that raises his hackles. jean (unlike riko) is emotionally mature enough to not blame others for his involuntary emotional reactions.

trust me, i have no idea what the common aftg opinions are and i'm horrible at guessing. but i will say that the sunshine court would read as a very different book if everyone handled jean's trauma with pitch-perfect, ideal care. it would read like one of those books that make you want to retch because it sounds like it was written by people who have never dealt well with people with complex trauma and are writing a fantasy of how they wish it would go.

[bybdolan]

thoughts on books i read in 2024

This was kind of an abysmal reading year for me ... i did not read a lot, very few books were truly excellent, and most of what I read was written by white guys (which is on me). Let’s hope 2025 is better on all fronts. Anyway, here’s a list of what I read, and about 4 sentences written in 3 minutes trying to summarize my thoughts on the book.

The Autograph Collector (Zadie Smith) – started the year off pretty strong with this one. It’s been a while since I read it, but what I do remember is that smith is an excellent storyteller and I liked how the themes of grief, dreams, and fame were woven together.

Die Insel der 1000 Leuchttürme (Walter Moers) – eh? I was constantly hoping that this would go in a “horror as metaphor for bigotry” or “small communities with strict rules are fucking scary” (think The Wicker Man) kind of direction, and thus was not on board with the way the plot ended up developing. It’s also way too long and Hildegunst’s neuroses are annoying after a certain point.

Faserland (Christian Kracht) – this is as good as everyone says it is. Full stop. I admittedly just love books about sad young men who are or pretend to be assholes (Catcher in the Rye), so this was perfect for me. Very sad and very pale, but in a good way – it felt clear, like nice winter wind. Also: I couldn’t get the boy to kill me but I wore his jacket for the longest time. Etc. etc.

Das fliegende Klassenzimmer (Erich Kästner) – a classic for a reason!!! Children’s books are at their best when they take their audience seriously, and this passes that test with flying colors. Incredibly fun, incredibly moving. Made me cry more than once. Eisern!

Call Me By Your Name (André Aciman) – this was a really interesting experience for me because I strongly disliked the movie when I watched it, as I was constantly put off by Oliver’s behavior. I think the book does a better job at making you understand the fragile and confusing back-and-forth between Elio and Oliver, and I found myself really really liking it because of that. I also greatly appreciate how unapologetically horny it is. Being horny makes you act fucking weird!!! I love weird horny representation!!! YAY peach scene! The style was beautiful as well, though a bit imagery-heavy at times, which did fit the heavy summer atmosphere.

Rico, Oskar 1 – 3 (Andreas Steinhöfel) – listened to the audiobooks on my way to uni. A very fun time all around. Similarly to Kästner, Steinhöfel has a lot of respect for his audience and also doesn’t shelter them. What other kids’ books can you name where the protagonist’s mom works at a strip club? The representation may not be perfect but I love that he went there. Mama Doretti you are forever famous TO ME.

The End of Loneliness (Benedict Wells) – always pains me to say this because Benedict Wells legit is so fucking sweet and nice in person and I’d LOVE to have dinner with him, but ... he is not thaaat good of a writer. This one essentially is a John Irving wannabe, and despite the “dark” themes it feels incredibly shallow and cliched at times. The female character(s) are particularly offensive. However: at the very least Wells is earnest about it all?

22 Bahnen (Caroline Wahl) – Caroline Wahl who had 2 books on the bestsellers list for over a year now recently complained that she wasn’t nominated for the Deutscher Buchpreis, which is partially meant as financial support for authors whose a) books do not sell well because b) they are good and complex pieces of literature, so I hope that she’ll be at least a bit consoled by receiving the “Book That Made Me Seethe With Hatred 2024” award <3 the writing is ass the story is shallow it’s all just a big fucking cliché and the depiction of poverty and addiction is appalling. I’d be ashamed to put a book like this out into the world.

HOOL (Philipp Winkler) – this still is THE book about violent men to me. I read it 5 times in the summer of 2018 and I am happy to report that it has lost none of its appeal and grit and ugliness. Simply a 10/10 and deeply formative to my taste.

Emil und die Detektive (Erich Kästner) �� everything I said about Das fliegende Klassenzimmer is also true for this one. Ultimately I do prefer Klassenzimmer though, simply because the themes of friendships and camaraderie appeal to me much more.

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (Stieg Larsson) – As a thriller this is near perfect, I could not put it down for two days. Larsson manages to do the whole “intersection of faith and violence against women” thing without it feeling exploitative (I’d be inclined to believe he may have started this trend), and I am glad that he allows his female characters to take gruesome revenge. Howeveeerrr unfortunately the narration still has a very chauvinistic edge to it and Mikkel feels like a male mid 40s wish fulfillment fantasy.

The Goldfinch (Donna Tartt) – I bought this in the Mauritshuis after seeing the Goldfinch so :’) it has a nice little sentimental edge to it. And this is another one of those “it really is THAT good” books. Looking back now, I am surprised that relatively little has stayed with me though – I never was that invested in Theo, and I also didn’t love Boris a ton, so a lot of the novel was just me hanging out with characters I didn’t like reading about that much. What stuck with me the most was the love for beautiful things that comes pouring out of every pages. Especially the parts in Hobie’s shop were just awe-inspiring. I’m planning to do a reread where I just focus on the descriptions because they were so unbelievably rich.

Bluebeard (Kurt Vonnegut) – I don’t remember a ton about this. What comes back to me most is my fondness of Vonnegut. He has a lot of humor and warmth in his writing, and I always find myself deeply moved by him writing about people loving one another, as funny or dark or even sad it may be.

The Virgin Suicides (Jeffrey Eugenides) – IT REALLY IS THAT GOOD. I could go on about the genius of that narrator perspective (the boys who watched the Lisbon girls as this big shapeless faceless conglomerate of first person plural) for ages. The prose is embroidery-worthy and the amount of detail and specificity do not only bring the Lisbon girls to life, but also the entire small town ecosystem around them. A beautiful capsule of stifled adolescence. And yet a horrifying read. (Bonus: I read this at the time when my boyfriend was reading Lolita, so when we were reading in public we looked like Mr. + Mr(s). Coquette.)

The O’Henry Prize Winners of 2024 – I love a good short story collection what can I say? I highly recommend these collections to everybody, as they present an array of innovative, diverse, well-told short stories that you may have not heard about before unless you are a literary magazine afficionado. My favorites were “Roy” and “The Soccer Balls of Mr. Kurz”.

Everybody Jam (Ali Lewis) – listen. Nothing hits like a good middle grade book. This one is veeery heavy at times and I was honestly not ready for some of the stuff that was happening, but it still was an engrossing experience and I just love coming-of-age stories that get into the mess of living. I also learned a lot about Australian cattle farming. Yay.

Fighting Ruben Wolfe (Markus Zusak) – another book about men and violence, yay! Finished this one today (it technically is only the first half of my German joint edition of this + “When Dogs Cry” but shhh). The writing was really good for the most part (I read it to get a feel for slightly gritty and simple vocabulary-wise yet rich in imagery narration for a project of mine, and it definitely delivered), however, it is very cut-up and not very subtle at times. I also felt like it was just missing. Something. I wasn’t really satisfied by the end of it.

so uuuh I think my favorite new reads of the year were The Virgin Suicides and Faserland. Maybe I should lighten up.

[cherrymagik]

also i finally read the catcher in the rye and i have to say

[saffitaffi]

“What if the evil tyrant who likes to kill puppies for fun actually just needed to fall in love with a sweet naive child who redeems them through the power of love and they were actually good the whole ti-“

What if they weren’t, though? What if their life twisted them to the point that they can only love through violence?

What if the narrative doomed them to ever play their role, a role that has already been chosen by forces higher than them?

What if the sweet, gentle character didn’t love them ‘despite their flaws’, or even at all?

Why should they? Especially if it’s a case of kidnapping. ESPECIALLY if they hurt them. Or their friends. Or take away their agency.

What if that strange contradiction of love and hatred in their heart tore them apart and gave them their justified end?

What if they CAN’T be fixed?

What if they don’t WANT to be fixed?

What if we stopped glamorizing abusive relationships and started actually exploring them?

[mostdeviouswizard]

Clementine Midnight Burger inspires complex feelings in me which I cannot exactly put a name to so I had to make fanart about it.

[rawrx3ky-txt]

Bruh wdym you think Mike queerler is the worst character in stranger things ????

My poor gay boy ???? Me ????

You’re saying you hate me and hope I die a gruesome death and never be happy in this world.

Mike queerler is literally me. I am him.

[kryptonbabe]

Alan Scott: The Green Lantern #6 "All that may become a man" by Tim Sheridan & Cian Tormey

It's over now and I'm going to miss this mini-series

[zzoupz]

EVERYONE ELSE ARE COWARDS FOR APOLOGIZING

UNAPOLOGETICALLY I THINK YOUR JIMMY IS SO COOL AND AWESOME AND HOT AND 10/10 LOVE THAT ROACH OF A MAN

PUT HIS ASS IN A LITTLE JAR AND SHAKE HIM LIKE A BUG

I LIKE JIMMY!!!11!!1!!1!!1! throws him against the wall and he makes a loud splat sound

[queen-morgana91]

"Zuko is the only complex character" in avatar is the most boring and stupid take in this fandom

Seems people can't recognize complex/good characters if they don't have a redemption arc