#bc I am 🙃

[newttxt]

sanji’s big “this might as well happen” moment 😅

from ch 5 of utilities included

masterpost

[gently-decaying-flowers]

take this quiz and post ur results!

here’s mine

no pressure tagging:

@enderdragon-1030 @soda-shark @marsisrealscared @lucinda-008 @orpheusdorph @niallermybabe @waitingforthesunrise @randomescapingwords @legendofthe3divas @a-portal-to-nowhere @shortgaything @underappreciatedtomato @dicklessswonder

[doctorsiren]

Felt like some simple painting today

[culiehua]

le fandom, 24/7 since the letter dropped:

[ficandkaboodle]

Vaginismus: Secondo x Fem!Reader

Author's Note: So . . . I'm already really bad at these types of things. But I think writing one of these on this type of subject matter is still important. Fanfiction is kind of a very rough place when it comes to acknowledging or writing for sexual disorders. On one hand, I am to assume this is because fanfic, by its very nature, is meant to be like wish fulfillment. Reader inserts are often meant to be the representations of the best versions of ourselves. But . . . I dunno, I feel like that can only go so far when you see representations of all kinds of disorders or issues or even complete non-issues. And yet virtually nothing is ever made with people who have conditions like vaginismus or whatever in mind. I love a good smut but sometimes, reading stuff makes me flinch inward and all I can focus on is the pain I would be in from even a pinky tip trying anything. I just think it's important to try and remind people that PiV isn't the only way to "get stuff done" and that it should be okay if that's a struggle for you. Some people can work their way out of the condition, and some people never do. And I think it should be okay to write about it because all too often it's easy to forget that or feel like you've lost out on being loved or understood over something that, in the grand scheme, is so silly. And since I have the condition and there's a chance I may never get out of it thanks to my fucked up noggin, I think this should be an opportunity to write about it. Hope I did okay. There might be more to follow . . .

Word Count: 2394 CW: Vaginismus and all the lovely self-loathing it entails, reader has a vagina, references to aspects of BDSM ig, MDNI

In your defense, you didn't think it would go this far. Certainly, one could argue that Secondo was a serious man: He wasn't prone to playing with food that wasn't absolutely his to consume. But you supposed you had forgotten that, or maybe you were just high on the the arrogant assumption that you might be a special case. Or maybe it just slipped your mind to intervene when the teasing glances, subtle and overt flirtations, and little talks between you kept going and going and going until --

Now look where it had gotten you: Sat in the office of the most intimidating Emeritus brother, a packet of documents lying on the desk before you, along with an elaborate green and silver fountain pen.

Secondo preferred to use contracts when it came to his potential bedmates he had a particular eye for. Ones he had an especial intention of keeping closer. Longer.

To many, this was an absolute honor. You knew plenty of siblings that would probably kill to be in your place. And as you sat wordlessly before both Papa and his documents, you contemplated throwing yourself onto those swords.

It would certainly be quicker and less painful than ducking out after coming this far.

You could picture it: St. Andrew's crosses, leather, hot wax searing deliciously into your skin, his sharp voice directing wicked degradation before salving you with praises. All the scrumptious things Papa II had gained a notoriety for indulging. You would gladly eat it all up and beg for seconds and thirds.

But you couldn't stop it there; it had to go further. Nobody just. Stops there. Nobody normal, anyway.

The problem was that you didn't consider yourself normal. Which was what made imagining him getting into position all the more mortifying even if in concept. You could picture yourself trying to convert the anticipation you were meant to feel from one of nerves into one of bliss but it doesn't matter. You try so hard to relax and be in the moment but it's a terrible moment!

You'd heard Secondo was blessed. The idea sat in your stomach while its surroundings shriveled in fear and constricted to an uncomfortable degree. Hell, it wouldn't even matter if he were the opposite of blessed: It would all hurt the same. It would still feel as though a needle were shanking its way into your most intimate parts, piercing onward until it struck your lungs and took the oxygen right out of you. And that would only be the beginning of it.

And just thinking that was enough to make the mask slip.

You prayed to Lucifer that the sound of you wordlessly nudging the papers and pen closer to Secondo would somehow be enough to disguise the whimper paining your throat. Unfortunately, it was not.

Your already throbbing stomach somehow made enough room to swallow your heart when you saw the older man's brow quirk.

"Something the matter, Sorella?" His voice, the one you'd grown to swoon into after all these passing weeks, made you want to flinch now. Fuck. You could feel your resolve slipping through your fingers like sand and creating further mess. You just needed to keep it together --

"N-no," you forced out. You tried not to dwell on how tight your voice sounded or how it even hurt just to utter that. A complete opposite to how smooth and natural it had been when you answered his invitation to his office earlier. You weren't even sure why you hadn't expected this to be the reason for such a request. You were so naive then . . .

You tried to push through the pain, tried add on, "I'm just --" but stopped almost immediately. You had no idea what to continue with. Fuck, you were fucking this up so badly! You seriously began to contemplate just standing up and leaving, but then where would that get you?

You still lived here, in the Abbey. Avoiding a Papa was virtually impossible at the end of the day. There was no way you two could carry on as though nothing had ever happened -- the flirting, the gazes, all that junk . . . Oh, Satanas, would you need to relocate? Uproot the life you'd finally managed to create for yourself here, sent off somewhere else just to hide the humiliation of what you were and what you had or hadn't done?

Satan, why did it feel so hot in here? Was that why the air suddenly feel like it was only oozing into your lungs with difficulty?

Clearly, Secondo did not take the silence well. His lips pressed into a thin line. "If I have insulted you, Sorella, I deeply apologize." No . . . "I thought you were aware of my practices." No!! He reached a large, ringed hand out to pull the items back towards him. And somehow, that was the final straw, the final snap before the dam collapsed.

It was like watching your last chance for something being taken away from you, even of your own accord! In fact, it was exactly that: Something you knew was necessary but it didn't have to be that way but fuck, your body and mind were at odds with each other and making it your problem and --

You hadn't even noticed that you'd turned into a crying, hiccuping mess, much less one that talked. It was only when you could see through your tears an actually surprised-looking Secondo (he was capable of shock?!) that you comprehended just what sort of state you were in.

And if it was enough to make the most emotionally constipated man in the Church look disquieted, then you must've been in a sorry state. The room only felt more hot as the burn of embarrassment enveloped you. You hoped it might even consume you in a full-throttle case of spontaneous human combustion as you struggled to swallow back up everything you'd just done.

"I-I-" you hiccuped wetly. It was so hard to formulate words underneath his gaze, which he never took off of you even as he reached for a box of tissues to offer you. You knew it was one of concern, searching for traces that maybe you needed help he couldn't offer you. But for the state your mind was currently in, it twisted it into one of disgust; like maybe all those affections he might've held for you an hour ago were being replaced with ones where all he saw was a madwoman.

It was almost too much. But it was also too late to go back now, wasn't it?

"I . . . My body doesn't work right," you finally admitted in a croaked murmur. Your eyes flew down to your lap in shame, watching your hands twist and tear at the wet tissues you'd just used. "It's a condition. Like my body clenches up down there at the mere thought of penetration. So . . . So sex is off the table, basically. I'm s-sorry . . ."

God, it sounded all so lame when you said it like that. But what else could you really do? How could you communicate to him the physical and mental pain it all caused you? How could you get across to him the embarrassment that came with pap smears, the shame you felt when recognizing how behind your peers you were? Would he sympathize or pity you if he learned that on a good day, you could get the very tip of a well-lubricated q-tip in and have to consider that a victory?

You weren't able to even formulate such thoughts, let alone predict how he might feel besides, perhaps, disappointment. Maybe even disgust.

Secondo liked the finer things in life, after all: How must he feel, knowing he'd wasted so much time and energy on something that was actually broken the whole time?

"I . . . I'm so sorry." At this, your fidgeting froze, your mind beckoning for you to glance up even the slightest. In doing so, even from such an awkward angle, you could see your Papa's expression remain nearly unchanged from before. It was still worried for you, though now with a touch of something more. "I can't imagine how difficult a spot you must've felt you were in . . . And for that, I apologize."

You gave a wobbly expression born of appreciation but also acknowledging the silliness of the sentiment. You gently huffed at the absurdity, "Don't apologize, you couldn't have known." A soft shrug allowed you to upright your position better. "If anything, I'm the one that should apologize. I should've said something in the beginning . . ."

At this, the older man shrugged back. "Perhaps, but I also can understand how uncomfortable that might've made you feel. Telling someone something so intimate can be difficult. Especially if it is like . . . Well." He gestured between the both of you.

You gave the smallest of chuckles (albeit, out of a desperate need to tenderize the mood) as you twisted the shredded pieces of napkin in your lap once more. Yet again, your eyes diverted from their connection with his. "Yeah, well, at least you would've known whether or not to waste time on me."

At that, the mood seemed to slightly change. You didn't feel threatened, but you knew that the breed of seriousness had shifted somewhat. Almost reprimanding. The eyes of Papa Emeritus II were just as intimidating out of the papal paints as they were in them, it seemed.

"I can assure you, Sorella," his normal nature of calmness returned, all traces of hesitancy from moments ago completely evaporated. "I don't see any of the time or what we've done together as a waste. If you have had any partners in the past that might've felt the opposite, then I sympathize greatly with you. But I also know that means you have no experience with anyone worth your time. That is, perhaps, the most disappointing thing of all here."

Damn. What do you even say to something like that? What could you say to something like that? Under normal circumstances, you might've argued in unfortunate defense of past failed connections, pinning the blame on you. After all, that's what made the most sense. or at least, it had. Until now, with the metaphorical mirror being propped up before you by one insistent Papa.

The room fell into silence as you searched for a response -- if you even needed to make one.

"Do you still want me?"

You almost jolted. You hadn't been expecting that to be what broke the silence.

"I . . . Well, yes. Of course I do, Papa." And you did. But . . . "But I don't know if --"

"I didn't ask for specifics, piccolina. I asked you: Do you still want to be with me?"

You struggled with a punctuated inhale. "Yes."

He hummed single low note before taking back the documents and pen. You watched curiously (and perplexedly) as he began to scribble and draw lines at seemingly random places. After what had felt like an eternity, he finally slid the packet back to you.

"Take a look. It's the roughest of drafts, of course, but we can properly revitalize it as needed. If you wish to make further retractions or additions, I give you the freedom to apply them."

Your brow furrowed as you picked up the papers for inspection. Of course, your eyes were immediately drawn to the instances of green ink that now freckled the paragraphs but you took especial time dialing it back and reading in full what these adjustments were meant to even mean.

Acts concerning penetration had been removed or adjusted as necessary, acts concerning outercourse or fondling had been either emphasized or added and asterisked.

"But . . . But Papa, I can't ask you to take away from your own pleasure," you objected. It was bad enough you'd strung him along, even if he argued that you hadn't. This was still quite a lot to grapple with in under ten minutes.

At this, Secondo cracked the first hint of amusement he'd had this entire session. He smirked as he reclined back in his hair. "And what, pray tell, makes you think I wouldn't derive pleasure from doing any of these things, piccolina?"

Porn, smut, the stories kiss-and-tell Siblings would often share in the cafeteria or in the hallways or the quad. Reddit posts.

"Well, I mean," you tried to argue. "They were there for a reason, weren't they? You enjoy those things." You ignored how the smirk on his face only seemed to grow. Hm. Maybe your words didn't have as much umph to them as you'd thought? Still, you continued. "A-and besides: I can't imagine you'd get off as easily from --" You glanced down at a word he'd scribbled in. " -- thigh jobs."

The low chuckle that rumbled from his chest settled your failure of a one-sided debated.

"Oh, Sorellina: You have much to learn about my proclivities," he sighed. "I understand that what the others might talk about may paint a certain picture of me. But I can assure you, any lover worth his salt should know that just shoving their dick into something is far from the end all, be all."

"And besides." The chair squeaked as he leaned in, hands folded on the dark wood of the desk. "It takes a true lover to relish in pleasure's many forms. I am more than happy to show you this, if you will let me."

It didn't matter that you had heard him say and gesture far cruder things: Just the words coming from his lips -- lips you had craved the taste of ever since your first sampling mere days ago -- coupled with the sincerity of his unbreaking eye contact. Your face was once again awash with a heat, a pleasant one born from blush.

You wanted to let him. You'd let him do whatever he could with you. You just needed to . . . let him.

Your body made picking up the pen feel weightier than it could've possibly been. But in a way, you were used to it: You were used to fighting your body and mind, always losing the battle so that they and their anxieties could be pacified while the other parts of you remained barren. Unsatisfied, with the conviction that it was only your burden to bear.

You didn't want a story to tell or even a milestone to complete so that you could better fit in with your peers: You just wanted to be understood. Or at least, like you wouldn't get left behind, chained by your own body and mind's complications.

As you stared at the green ink that formed your name on the pristine white paper, you felt a tightness in your throat. Never before had you felt so liberated . . .

[okitanoniisan]

ADKSBFKDKSLVJGH IT WORKS

[is-it-bussin-hannibal]

okay so,, I don't know if i have it in me to write a whole fic, but i needed to get this slightly dark Paul out of my head

Paul is married off to Feyd the second Feyd is of age (which avoids the attack on Arrakis yadayada as Feyd, alongside Paul, will inherent Arrakis, everybody wins). At first, obviously, the boys don't like each other very much, they're two teenagers, but they're also of noble birth, it's their duty, and Paul is bene gesserit, his whims have no place here. Feyd tends to ignore his husband most of the time, but he sleeps in the same bed, sometimes he'll stay in their rooms while Paul read or draws, somethings he really just stays there, quiet, sometimes he will engage in an activity of his own, they're practically parallel playing, sometimes he'll excise, and Paul will quietly join him. Paul knows he could seduce him, but there's just something about Feyd, how he avoids physical contact, how he'll move an inch away when approached, he's very mistrustful, and Paul respects that. It only infuriated him a "bit" when he found out Lady Fenring seduced his husband, and he knew why. Still, Feyd willingly spends time around him, and he doesn't do that to anyone else, and that means something.

Living in Geidi Prime proves to be a chore, it's harsh and cold and empty. Paul has observing as his form of distraction, right away he understands the power balance here, he understands why things happen the way they do, he sees the Baron for what he is, he also starts to understands Feyd the longer he stays with him. Paul never had anyone his age around, granted, but he also never had anyone match his wits, and he's delighted with how smart Feyd is. From what he learned with the bene gesserit, his husband was a animal, aggressive and not particularly intelligent, like his brother but stronger, he thought his marriage would be just taming a beast, like he was trained to do, dull and uncomfortable. But oh, what a delicious surprise!! Feyd managed to deceive the witches, made this mask of a monster, but of course, no one can get close enough to see through it. Paul does, like a bad dog, Feyd-Rautha bites when threatened. And soon Paul realizes, that everything here is a threat to Feyd, and has been since he can remember, the biggest threat? the Baron. He feels sorry for his husband, but he knows that would not please Feyd, and Feyd made the effort to be around him, because for some reason, he decided to stay with him for life and not just, kill him, and he's happy with that, so he does his best to show Feyd what a family is, because now they're family.

Paul sets for old fashioned childlike friend making instead of bene gesserit seduction. He talks to Feyd, even though Feyd does not respond, tell him things, sometimes random things, sometimes important things about himself, just to make conversation, to guide Feyd. The Na-Baron is very confused at first, but he listens, Paul urges him to speak too, he doesn't really knows what to say, but in time, he starts making comments about things here and there, like he's seen Paul do, which seems to please Paul. They create a routine. He annoys Feyd enough that the older has no option but let him do whatever he wants, and what he wants? to know Feyd, to be his friend. Feyd is not really familiar with the concept, he has his pets of course, but they're just one of the twisted mentat's failed experiments. The girls are beautiful but with the intelligence of a doberman. They were given to him as mock, but his pets suppressed expectations in his hands. Paul doesn't mind them at first, they scare him but it's nothing he can't deal with. He knows Feyd loves them, he usually doesn't show soft emotions, not here, never here, but Paul just knows, he can feel it. So he approaches the girls, he has heard all kinds of horrible things about the Na-Baron's harem of cannibals, but that's just what they are. They were born cannibals, they need human meat, Feyd is a gladiator, he keeps the girls fed, nothing else. For the world it looks sadistic and evil, adding to Feyd-Rautha's lore, from up close, it's really what Feyd can show of compassion. Gretel, Mischa and Niobe, they can't talk, but they're smart, Paul teaches them some sign language. Feyd is more than impressed, the girls usually don't let themselves be approached by strangers, but Paul won them over, especially Niobe, she's the one more taken by his little husband, follows him around and is eager to communicate, even started to sleep by his bed. Feyd asks to learn sign language too, of course, he also wants to communicate better with the girls. Paul can explode with happiness, something else to bond over!!! They're already have fighting, flying and Paul noticed the dedication Feyd has with his looks and decides to match him. It takes hard work, but Feyd starts to relax around Paul. He also understands Paul is his equal, just as intelligent, just as resilient, he can see Paul and Paul can see him. He's still hesitant, like a wild animal who was kept in a cage too long, but he's getting there and that's okay for Paul, he'll teach his husband, feelings are hard and Feyd never learned to deal with them besides bottling them up and attacking first, but now Paul is here, they are friends.

Enough spice in the food has enhanced his perception, he noted, and easily enough, he knows who he is, what he is, not just a Harkonnen by marriage but by blood. He can feel it now, in the back of his conscience, that thing that have always flown through his blood but he could never name it, hedonism. His sheltered, kinda repressed, life in Caladan makes him a little angry, all he has been denied and for what?. The Baron obviously takes a like for him, and he understands why, he also understands why Feyd seems uncomfortable, almost disgusted with it, and he too, feels a little thrown off by it, but he's bene gesserit, he uses it.

No reason to tiptoe aroud it, Paul calls him grandpa, which just makes the Baron happier with him. He stays at the Baron's side, sits with him in his floating device, talks about whatever the Baron wants, let's his thick hands linger, he gains advantages over the fat man. Soon enough, he's included in the important conversations. Even though the old man is a disgusting creature, Paul sees he's also very intelligent, and even learns a thing or two from the Baron. His grandfather is more than happy to dress him up in the most expensive fabrics, parade him around like a trophy, and Paul does the Baron's biding because yes, he's the most disgusting man in the galaxy but boy, he sure knows what he's doing, and he's got to make the most out of his situation. He knows his family would be outraged to see the Duke's son like this, in the Baron's lap, laughing, clinging to him, whispering in his ear a thing or two he noticed about the nobles around them. But Paul is not just the Duke's son, he's bene gesserit, he has the power here, he's a mentat, he's doing this for the advantages, he's Harkonnen, he's doing this because he can, because it's his birthright.

Paul noticed how Feyd would tense up in the Baron's presence, how he hated to be touched by anyone but held very still anytime it was necessary, he noticed Feyd would cover his body head to toe when he had the choice, only socially he would be showing skin, enchanting everyone around him like a good showman, and Paul knew he hated it, he knew he was doing what he was taught to do, to be a good boy and entertain. Maybe after a while he ever got a taste for that, not enough to enjoy having skin showing around the Baron, but enough to do it effortlessly.

After so much time around the Baron, Paul learned he did, in fact, have strong Harkonnen blood running through his veins. He enjoys power, he enjoys lavishness, he is very much a hedonist. The bene gesserit training served him well, but he saw through them now, he would not do their bidding, especially after learning what they did to Feyd, setting a trigger word that would render him paralyzed, "for safety" they said, it makes his blood boil. Taking away Feyd's agency, making him vulnerable, he knows those are Feyd's biggest fears, oh how he would snap those witches necks with his bare hands, maybe he will if they ever get too close to his husband. Let them think he tamed the beast, let them think of him as a beast, that keeps him safe, and Paul learned from Feyd, add fuel to the fire if it's working for you.

His training from his old masters also served him well, but now that his grandfather included him in real talks about the imperium he knows there's no such thing as morally better or whatnot, if anything, his father was not very smart, leading with his heart and training with repression. He loves his family dearly, but the world is so much bigger now, and out of everyone, is the Baron teaching him. His sees now, his mother is a Harkonnen like any other, hungry for power, he cannot see how love would blind such a powerful woman, that's why she defied the sisterhood, why she tried to make him a boy, the one. He wonders how different things would be if she had been raised by her father, maybe she would be like himself now.

Like the Baron, he thought of Feyd as "his", differently from the Baron, he would NEVER hurt him, and that's how he distance himself from that man, he can not stand the thought of Feyd being hurt, and he will do whatever it takes to protect his husband, his friend. He knows Feyd initially was angry at him for this behavior, withdrawing from him, he couldn't understand why Paul would let the Baron touch him, knowing what he knew, knowing what he did to Feyd, how could he be fine with that, was he that much like his grandfather? it was revolting to him. And at first, Feyd thought his husband was stealing his thunder, then, he thought his husband was giving himself for free. It took a while for Feyd to realized that with Paul gliding around the room in his pretty, expensive clothes the Baron chose for him, nobody, especially the Baron, minded him. He could wear the clothes he was comfortable with, no one cared, he didn't need to say a word to anyone, all eyes were on Paul, the sweet, pretty grandson of the Baron Harkonnen. He felt it, Paul was doing this for him, no one was going to touch him, no one was going to be all over him, he wasn't going to be forced to perform, the Baron would not hurt him, not under the little witch boy's spell. Paul was also safe from the people around them, Feyd was a plaything until he started to bite back, but no one would touch the Baron's arm candy, the Baron's only grandson. Feyd is as close to free as he could ever be, thanks to Paul, he almost can't keep it in his chest, the dukling likes him so much he is willingly at the Baron's side, knowing that his family will not be happy with that. No one had ever protected Feyd before, maybe his mother once, but he couldn't really remember. And like that, he trusts Paul, and maybe that's what love feels like. Paul knows what loves is, he was loved from his first breath, and when he sees it in the Na-Baron's eyes, directed at him, he feels complete.

In the early days of their marriage, when Feyd was very skittish around him, and would not touch him, Paul thought of many things, maybe the Na-Baron didn't find him attractive? or maybe he was repulsed by sex altogether, odd, considering what he learned about Geidi Prime and Harkonnen culture. Maybe he was impotent? no, the sisters would've told him that, they wouldn't jeopardize the way for an heir. That wouldn't do, they needed an heir to secure this union and Feyd unwillingness to touch him as unbecoming.

One day, during their training session, Paul was wearing a short blouse that would ride up with every move, he caught the older boy's eyes lingering on his frame, he said nothing, Feyd also said nothing. Then Paul noticed his struggle to move, the Na-Baron's pants had become tight, the duckling smiled to himself, so he was attracted to him after all, and he clearly could get it up, so what was the issue?. One day, Paul used the Voice on Feyd, they were wrestling, he thought it would be funny to get the upper hand like that, and a good way to let Feyd know of his abilities. He was wrong, Feyd moved so fast way from him, it was as if he used the Voice to tell him that and not "down". He looked terrified for a moment before he caught himself, still away from Paul as he got up. Paul felt so bad, he understood why Feyd was terrified, Feyd hated not having control over his own body, more than hate, he feared that. Paul explaind he only wanted Feyd to know he could do it, told him he would NEVER use the Voice on him again, apologized profoundly. Feyd acknowledged his explanation but was very surprised by the apology, he liked it, Paul could tell. He decided to show what a pinky promise was, and made a promise with Feyd. Feyd-Rautha was quite happy with that.

They had become more comfortable with each other over the weeks, they held hands and hug every once in a while. Paul would have vison nightmares sometimes, other times Feyd would have nightmares, after calming down they would just hug until they fell asleep again, Feyd was getting found of hugs. Paul even got a kiss! the only other time they kissed was at their wedding and Feyd did as fast as he could.

One day, while they were laying in bed, just enjoying the other's company, Feyd asked, out of nowhere, if he would use the Voice on someone else. Paul took a while to respond that yes, if he needed, he would, he saw something shine in Feyd's eyes, he couldn't tell-- "you're very powerful" Feyd said, not blinking, looking directly at him, breathing heavily, and oh, that's it, Feyd is not only attracted to him, he's also attracted to power. Paul then decided to show how much he appreciated his husband by giving him power over himself. Feyd, unlike him, was experienced, forced to perform, then acquired a taste for it, for taking back. Paul knew what he was taught as a bene gesserit and what his grandfather had shown him in filmbooks but nothing felt like giving in to Feyd, not having to be the one in control all the time, just letting go, he trusted Feyd, knew he would never hurt him, and Feyd trusted Paul to never force him to do anything. They were a united front now.

[astrodances]

As the cabin came into view again, Goldie couldn’t stop thinking about how this had to be the coldest night they’d had in weeks and her feathers were turning into little icicles. With the small amount of sunlight left, she could see her breath on every exhale. It was so cold she was getting exhausted much faster than she should’ve and Goldie knew she’d be sick in the morning...if she made it there at all.

May I present...the Ice Queen of Dawson. ❄️

This has been a long time coming, but I finally finished this set of three drawings last week that I've been wanting to draw for the longest time for @lettheladylead's running in circles (the above drawing specifically comes from chapter 4 - it's the exact moment that Goldie sees the cabin again on the way back from trying to get back to Dawson). (Will also say that these are a very happy belated birthday gift to you! :D)

There were a few moments from the Klondike chapters that weren't necessarily major story moments, but the descriptions of them (and especially of the environments/lighting) caught my eye and my heart, and made me want to highlight the beauty of the Klondike, and so here we are.

For this scene in particular, her walk back to the cabin, I got a very vivid image of it while reading it, a sort of tragic twist on a "winter wonderland" and on Goldie looking all icy-pretty, and the angst of the Ice Queen naturally came in to play.

Will post the other two drawings over the next two days - up next: a king in the morning light.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

:-P

[shivunin]

Didn't reblog the discourse-baity post with my long opinions in the tags, I should get a little gold sticker and a boba tea

[supermusicallee]

NO other show in existence understands sister dynamics better than fleabag. especially from the perspective of older sisters i believe. having the same character yell "...you're fine! you'll always be fine. you'll always be interesting, with your quirky cafe and your dead best friend. you just make me feel like i've failed," AND "the only person i'd run through an airport for is you" !!!!!!!!! it's insane and it's exactly how i feel

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

a lot of people carry around an assumption that a work of art which is “good” in certain ways is going to be received pleasurably (i’m using an extremely broad definition of pleasure here that encompasses things like art-induced moral discomfort or sadness don’t @ me) by, like, people at large. this comes up in two different areas of interest for me: on the one hand, People Having Takes On The Internet; on the other hand, discussions about pedagogy, particularly around writing. i have, i mean, a lot of different thoughts about this - still marveling over the interview with a book critic and harvard philosophy doctoral student i read where she casually espoused the belief that if people were simply taught better what makes art good they would like bad art less, which continues to strike me as one of the stupidest things i’ve ever seen a person i temporarily had a positive opinion of say - but like in pedagogical considerations for example something i had started to wonder about when i left the classroom was like… our writing instruction relied a lot on modeling. like, “notice how this published author does this thing; see how i try to do it also; now you try.” and i think that an unarticulated/unrecognized problem in that sort of modeling is that it kind of assumes the student finds pleasure in say a thorough visual description - that the student agrees “yes this part of what makes the book good.” (an adult can probably choose to learn craft lessons from a book they dislike - but i think that’s a tall order for a seven year old.) but not all of them do, and i picked description specifically because it’s something plenty of adult readers dislike as well - “too much description” is a common goodreads complaint! to me this is viscerally sort of insane because what are you even reading for then? but the answer is that they’re reading for different reasons than i am and i’ve never heard an argument i found compelling in favor of the idea that there are objectively better or worse things to seek from art (an area of life that quite literally doesn’t matter, which is precisely what gives it meaning, IMO). and also a surprising number of people very deep into art generally or of a particular kind seem ignorant of or opposed to the idea that, for example, someone who cares about a medium as an art form is probably going to have different criteria than a person who doesn’t care and just sometimes wants to go to the movies or see a book, and this is actually normal and not a problem to be solved. which i find strange. no real conclusion here except maybe an argument for spending more writing time in elementary school on things like learning what a complete sentence is and how to write one, which is a skill that will prove valuable regardless of personal tastes.

[yunogf]

[shalmonsdraws]

i didn't plan to overlap them in a tower but they were just not looking right when next to each other 🙃

[cheekblush]

so i officially quit my job at the pharmacy and i’m starting a new job in december

[iobartach]

Like / reblog this for memes / asks?

I'm probably gonna be busy until sunday, so I have no time to write for the moment. 💀