#borrowed from library

[murakamijeva-muza]

[valtsv]

hate it when there's a book where the premise is good but the execution is limp dicked because now i have to read it and grind my teeth over how good it could have been the entire time. look what you've done to me.

[fistfuloflightning]

Winterfell

[polymerclay]

Back to arts and crafts again!

[moonyfr]

The amount of fics I want to re-read, the amount of fics I want to finish reading, and the amount of fics I want to start reading is very impractical atm

[haveyoureadthisbook-poll]

[cascadiums]

Nothing gives me a greater sense of pride and validation than bookstore employees telling me they like my choices. I'm going to get a good grade in paperback purchases, which is normal to want and possible to achieve

[iztea]

topic so niche that not only i cant find the book scan online, i can't even buy the book with honest money even if i wanted to this is next level gatekeeping. hater behaviour, really

[doriana-gray-games]

Hi! Just wanted to say real quick I love love love your game and have been silently following it for over a year. This is the first time I’m sending in an ask though haha. What does Anne think of the ROs? And has she picked up on anything from Watson in their non-platonic route?

Thank you! Have cookie ❤️🍪 (I did not have kitkat.)

Anne and Neel feel the same about the ROs and it’s like this:

L: “Who?”

A: “Who??”

H: “😖 Too intimidating.”

W: “Best person ever (except Sherlock) ✨ So nice, approachable, warm ☺️.”

MC: “😳 or 🥺”

I think, at least in an opposite gendered route, that people would be gossiping and wondering about the MC and W's closeness, whether they’re platonic or not.

But I think Anne and Neel spend more time than most (except maybe Mrs Hudson, romanced Lestrade, or pining Watson themselves) about the nature of your relationship lol.

‘🤨 was Watson just being nice when they told me to save a slice of their favourite bread for Sherlock when they woke up? Could the bread be a grand romantic gesture? 😔 I need to ask Mrs Hudson again…’

[vegansoc]

“Billions of farmed animals are slaughtered for food annually in the United States, and their deaths are celebrated for how their bodies will be used rather than grieved for the individuals they were.”

-Kamekə Brown, The Hope and Promise of Sanctuary

[itslookingback]

omg i need to sleep but the starless sea.... what..... this is like. one of the best fantasy books i have read. every single story that you th ought was just a standalone is interwoven in the world and the worldbuilding is just beautiful. it is a book about stories and bees and honey and exploring and doors and spaces outside of time and feeling untethered and dying and being saved and protection and immortality and owls and so much jqnuary snow and libraries and ruins and cocktails and fate and the sea and love and i really should not finish it tonight because i have an alarm set but oh my god. this book

[canisalbus]

Have you ever drawn anything from Watership Down? The vibe of the story feels like it'd fit perfectly with your artstyle

Not in recent memory, but I should! Watership Down is probably my favorite book of all time, I've reread it in various points of my life and continue to resonate with it strongly.

[cheriekos]

“my self-sufficiency will be the death of me” [timkon ficlet]

goooooood afternoon timkonners. Really wanted to get into the habit of writing a little bit everyday again, so I’m filling out some whumptober-adjacent prompts (courtesy of scealaiscoite). This may be eventually cross-posted to my ao3, who knows, this is mostly just to keep my writing skills in check after a really rough few months of work + to get me out of my writing slump on my larger fic projects. This has been very lightly edited, and is extremely unbeta’d. Anyways, enjoy! Prompt: blood swirling down a shower drain. Content warnings for light descriptions of a knife injury & medical treatment related to that.

The ceiling is that awful popcorn texture. It's yellowed over time. There's a spreading stain over corner, likely some water damage from the unit above. There's some rust at the corner of the shower curtain rod and some odd looking spots at the bottom of the flimsy plastic curtain that has him groaning because he's going to have to look into this, he lives here, other people live here, and clearly the landlord spruced up his apartment but not the others and this needs to be taken care of but it's another thing to take care of -

His breath catches in his throat, a barely held gasp just eeking out past his lips. Every time he tries to breathe low into his belly, his chest spasms. Bruised ribs, he catalogues. Another thing to take care of.

Tim's fingers shake over the left side of his chest, right above the torn parts of his uniform, right where his emergency beacon was slashed through. He lost the one on his wrist sometime between Falcone's latest hidden warehouse and the apartment building. If he reaches down to his boot, he can press the one still intact. He can press it, and someone will come and get him.

He can't move his hand.

Well - It's not that he can't. He's still got some feeling left, which is good. But he can't stop staring at the ceiling. The thought of even moving his head makes him feel so - so tired. It feels as if someone has scooped out his bones and filled him with dense liquid. He tries to will himself to move, to slam down on the emergency beacon and suffer through the indignity of having to be saved by Robin and sit through a thorough dissection of everything he did wrong tonight. He doesn't mind it so much anymore, really - but he's just - he's too tired. He's too tired.

When he closes his eyes, it feels good - the rest that calls to him feels like the kind after a particularly long day of running around as a kid. When you've probably spent too much time in the sun and your chest hurts, the phantom pain of deep laughter following you to your bed. He believes it, for a moment. That he's really just closing his eyes after playing too much and too long and his mom will be there in just a moment to brush his hair out of his eyes and tell him don't let the bed bugs -

He presses down on the knife wound along his abdomen to keep himself awake.

Only an inch deep, but three inches long - they got messy trying to pull it out, he thinks. Another wound. Another thing to take care of. Which he won't be able to take care of if he passes out in this dingy bathroom that's probably going to give him an infection.

His fingers feel cold. He can't tell if he's going into shock or if he's been sitting under the spray of the shower so long that the hot waters run out.

He can't die like this. Not like this. Lying in a mold covered bathroom, shredded to pieces. Not like this.

It's painful, it makes him flush with a deeply buried shame that he tried hard not to face - but he chokes out his name anyway.

"Superboy," he says. "Kon."

There's a moment - one painful, awful moment - where there is nothing but the sound of the shower and his own, ragged breathing. Then, somewhere further inside there's the sound of a window opening, the stumbling of leather boots against hardwood floor - and then Kon's there, right there next to him, and Tim has never felt so relieved and so ashamed at the same time.

"Shit," Kon says, holding Tim's face. He looks down at Tim's hands, shaking against the wound in his side, and follows the blood going down the shower drain. "Shit."

"Good t'see y'too." Tim mumbles.

Kon's staring - or at least, Tim thinks he is. He thinks time is slowing down, maybe. Between one blink and the next, Kon's face morphs from wide-eyed worry to a grim sort of determination. The grip on Tim's face tightens - not unkindly.

"Not funny, Tim," Kon says, lowly.

Tim just swallows, barely wincing at the acrid taste of copper on his tongue. He tilts his chin with what little energy he has, indicating his stomach.

"Knife wound," he says. "Bruised ribs. Gotta check for - for concussion -"

"Stop talking -"

"Need - stitches -"

"Stop talking."

Tim's mouth clicks shut. He feels something burn at his chest - not pain, but something more akin to anger flaring beneath his skin. The urge to crawl out of the tub, to rip away from Kon and get his own goddamn medical kit was making his stomach roll. But God, his bones were like lead and his head was so heavy - the overwhelming relief of being gathered up into Kon's arms was almost enough to distract him. Almost.

"I'm taking you back to your house -"

"Can't."

"Why?"

"Got - my own - my own place -"

Kon freezes as he leaves the old bathroom, pausing briefly to scrunch his eyes tight and mutter a small Jesus Christ before readjusting Tim in his hold, gently.

"You need help, Tim, and you've lost a lot of blood -"

"Not too much -"

"Tim -"

"Kon," Tim says, strained. "The longer we stand here arguing, the more blood I lose. Take me - take me back to my apartment."

Time really slows down then. Kon's bright, bright eyes bore into his, a completely open book. Tim can see the way he swallows down his words, the way his jaw twitches as he grinds his teeth - the way his eyes shine with worry. Tim holds his gaze, focusing on the pain blooming across his ribs in order to avoid thinking about just how much Kin's gaze unsettled something within him.

"You're gonna be the death of me," Kon mutters.

"Not if I die first," Tim says, softly. Kon doesn't laugh - doesn't so much as smirk. Then, he's bounding out the door faster than Tim could blink.

Tim feels a wave of vertigo and he does everything he can to stop the bile rising in his throat. He digs his nails into the worn leather of Kon's sleeve, groaning with his lips shut tight. Kon's thumb rubs a soft circle where he holds him - a gesture so gentle that it takes Tim by surprise. He doesn't get to relish in it for long before Kon's laying him against his new dining table; Tim mourns the clean wood. He'll be scraping out blood from the grooves for the next few months.

"My medkit -" Tim's hand reaches out, weakly. "Get me - needle -"

"Are you out of your mind?" Kon damn near shouts. "You're not sewing yourself up."

"I can and - I will -"

"No," Kon says firmly, hand wrapped around Tim's wrist. "Can you - can you just let someone help you for once?"

No - it's the reply right on the tip of his tongue. Help. There was a time when people surrounded Tim, when he could reach out a hand and find another reaching out to him. But the longer he does this, the more he loses, the more people start to disappear - the more that he finds that the only hands he has are his own. The hands that will stitch him up and prop him up straight, the ones that get things done.

But another, tiny part of him sighs. A little part of him sags with relief, maybe with exhaustion- because yes, he would like some help. His fingers are cold and cannot stop shaking and Kon is steady.

"Fine," Tim finally says. "Help me."

Kon smiles. That irritating, crooked grin lights up his face and Tim chest constricts at the familiarity of it.

“Was that so hard?” Kon says, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Yes,” Tim groans.

Kon moves swiftly - more assured, more practiced than he had been months ago when he first had to deal with some bad scrapes while out on a mission with the team. His hands don’t flit about wildly, searching for something to make it better. He takes off his own gloves and washes his hands before cutting through the tightly woven Kevlar of Tim’s suit, gently washing the cut, and letting Tim dig crescent shaped divets into his bicep while he threaded Tim’s skin back together.

“You’ve gotta breathe, Tim - “

“I’m trying, asshole - “

“Don’t call the guy with the needle and thread an asshole, asshole - “

Tim barely notices that Kon has already snipped the medical thread and has started placing bandages across his side. Tim watches as he moves, quick, tearing medical tape and snipping bandages with determination, and then carefully placing them where Tim still bleeds. Tim’s mouth goes dry - he looks up at the ceiling instead.

“How’s your hearing? Seeing double?” Kon asks, flashing the little emergency flashlight in Tim’s eyes. Tim resists the urge to bat him away.

“Just fine,” Tim blinks. “God help me if I - if I ever have to deal with - two of you.”

“Twice the fun,” Kon remarks.

“Twice the headache,” Tim says, with little heat. “Kon - painkillers - “

Kon rattles a small bottle, labeled meticulously in Alfred’s familiar handwriting. “These ones?”

“Yes,” Tim says, breathlessly. He tries to put one hand under him, arm shaking with the effort to try and pull his own body weight up.

“Hold on - “

“I can - get up by myself - “

“Tim,” Kon says, warm hands curling around Tim’s arm. “Let me help you. Please.”

There’s an earnestness to Kon that is so disarming that it peels away the remaining resistance in Tim. He uses his last bits of energy to wrap an arm around Kon’s neck, a flush traveling across his cheeks as he mutters okay and lets himself be held again. This time, he lets himself melt a little further into Kon, pointedly ignoring the unfurling, winding feelings in his gut - he neatly packs that feeling away for later in the corner of his brain. He focuses on breathing, on the steady rhythm of Kon’s heartbeat, and the soothing hands that hold him.

He blinks rapidly, realizing that he’s been placed on his couch and that Kon has managed to rummage up the eye-sore of a blanket that Dick had given him as house-warming gift a while back. Kon’s in the kitchen, then suddenly by his side, waving a small glass of water and the painkillers in front of Tim.

“Drink up, Timmy,”

“Don’t call me Timmy,” Tim grumbles, and downs the pills and water in one swift movement.

When he sits back, it’s like every bit of adrenaline keeping him awake has left him. The last dredges of it disappear and all he can do is curl against the headrest, the scratchy, awful blanket giving him an odd sense of comfort. He blinks, slow, trying to get a good word out before sleep could take him. To tell Kon he’s got it handled, that he needs to report back to Dick about the stake-out going wrong - but he can’t. He just looks up at Kon, illuminated by the bright lights of Gotham from the window behind, and he feels a deep, deep ache in his sternum. A sudden urgency fills him - a worry. That when he wakes up, Kon will be gone and something about that makes Tim feel sick.

He moves his fingers slightly, flushing with embarrassment as he croaks out “Stay?”

Kon doesn’t hesitate. There’s barely enough time for a thought before Kon’s hand tangles with Tim’s, the rough pads of his thumbs, slowly becoming calloused from farm work, begins to rub against Tim’s knuckles. Tim’s breath catches in his throat.

“Of course,” Kon whispers. “You don’t even have to ask.”

Tim breathes out. “Oh.”

There’s a smile on Kon’s face - a little knowing, a little sad. Something childish blooms in Tim; he wants to reach out and hold his face, wants to pull at the edges of his cheeks until the sadness went away. But rest tugs at him, the exhaustion in his bones pulling him down, down, down until the feeling of Kon’s hand in his was a distant sensation, his last words something like out of a dream.

“I’ve got you, Tim. I’ve got you.”

[soracities]

Hi, do you or any of your followers have any recs for audiobooks? Preferably that are free, I just would like to listen to something while knitting but not sure how to start exploring since I don't know who are good narrators or things like that. Thanks so much!!

i don't listen to audiobooks unfortunately but any audiobook devotees please please send in your recs for anon, thank you 💗

[barnabyboppins]

Hopefully lukewarm take (i haven’t checked)

I recently finished reading the Heroes Of Olympus series (having read pjo immediately prior) and I think it’s pretty shitty that the worth of all of our good guy characters are, to a notable degree, measured by their ability to find and engage in romantic relationships and are then greatly defined by those relationships. (Disclaimer; I don’t think I’m in a justified position to discuss lots of the racial criticisms for HoO but I do agree with a lot of em and that aspect does factor into this topic)

7+ important recurring characters is quite a lot of people to balance, even in a five book series and all of the non-pjo characters suffered immensely for it. But one character arc I anticipated over and over again that never ended up happening was any one character finding fulfillment from the non-romantic relationships around them by de-prioritizing the idea of a perfect someone in favour of accepting the support of their friends/comrades/campers/family/etc. (Second disclaimer: I don’t expect a novel saga from 2010 to have characters declaring their orientations (or lack thereof) aloud but the idea of a character learning to define themself by or through something outside of romance isn’t a new one)

I think Percy and Annabeth are very cute and work well as a couple (are they the only white couple?) and I don’t really see any chemistry between Piper and Jason (I feel like they’re on very different paths from each other and Piper stagnates greatly in favour of supporting jasons development) but I think literally every other Good Guy character had the potential to not need romance in their arcs. Frank could have been raised to praetor by consensus and recognized by his peers and grandma, actively validating his growth rather than him achieving great feats and no one noticing or really caring except for Hazel. Hazel could’ve been shown learning about the modern day with Frank and Nico during downtime and reconciling her identity and trauma with the diversity of today while discovering a new freedom in acceptance (from the Seven) of who she is from back then and who she may yet want to be (and also not dated a 16 y/o at 13).

Leo, Reyna and Nico were the main ones I was thinking would forgo the need for a partner at least as a necessity for their growth/healing as all three have severe familial trauma, are distanced from other demigods socially somehow, and all were explicitly ousted from conventional romance in-writing.

Initially with Leo I had hoped he would confront his struggle being the “seventh wheel” by expressing how he was feeling overlooked as a friend (and as the ONLY shipwright) in favour of everyone’s romantic interests, which would lead into further emotional vulnerability in the party but, that never happened save for a few stoically non-communicative gestures of support to Frank and otherwise weird hang-ups on Hazel before he fucked off to Calypso, letting his friends think him dead for weeks. Leo lacked connection and felt inferior and less important than the rest of the Seven and the narrative validated that by only fulfilling him through an a Rapunzel-like hot babe trapped on an island who is physically dependent on his emotional dependence on her. That’s not a recipe for healthy relationship! I related to Leo initially as an aromantic person with 9 siblings, half of whom are already coupled so it was very disappointing when I realized by the third book that RR just didn’t take what was to me the most obvious arc for a character who is vitally important to a team but least noticed. Also the Hazel-Frank-Leo pseudo-love shape didn’t need to happen, at least in the way it did, and I think the Leo-Hazel-Sammy weird love thing was stupid.

I think Nico and Will are a very cute couple and I’m looking forward to reading their book when I come around to it but I felt unsatisfied that the thing that got Nico to stay at camp after 5 books was a guy who had little significant presence until the last book and not like, any of the other deeply important connections he made during his journeys? Nico’s been talking about never returning to either camp for a while and none of the Seven or Reyna (I think) thought to check in with him? I get that Will is supposed to be like the first person to insistently want Nico around but if Will really is the first then that’s kinda fucked up given the whole like, eight books worth of people he’s met. It’s a bit fucked up that after years of Nico’s presence, seemingly the first connection to anchor him down is an unspoken suggestion of a romance

Reyna’s character journey confuses me because I don’t if I missed or forgot it but I don’t remember her having a conclusion to her internal struggles. Aphrodite telling her she’s doomed to singledom gets brought up again and again and it’s mostly just to make you feel bad for her. She doesn’t tell anyone else. She doesn’t seek fulfillment in the platonic or familial connections she has. They visit her house, trauma dump about her abuse AND fakeout her sisters + the hunters + the amazons deaths just to have Reyna be even more hurt. Reyna and Nico come to understand each other while they’re travelling but by the conclusion of the series she’s just gone back to her isolating and stressful role as the praetor, but now with more work to do! Aphrodite’s words are never explained and their veracity is never tested and all it serves is to give Reyna more misery porn.

I guess what I’m saying is I think the story would have been better if The Seven & Co had a little more connection with each other and not just with their respective partners and if we could have seen some internal growth come from that.

[springs-hurts]

Meanwhile me to those thick classic novels—