#but it gets to RIDICULOUS levels in the book like holy shit

[polka-spots]

I can't stop thinking about Dain Bornhald, they actually made him semi-likeable in the show whereas in the books he has such a hate-boner for Perrin it's ridiculous. Interested to see how this goes in the show.

[freak-accident419]

Double Derek

Derek Danforth x GN!Reader

Summary: You spend time with your boyfriend, Derek, before he would leave for a week-long business trip away from home. As a joke, you propose that you should purchase a ‘Clone a Willy’ kit, in case you miss him during his absence. But Derek wasn’t truly against the idea.

Word Count: 4.3k

Content: 18+ smut, MDNI, gender-neutral reader, mentions of sex toys (they’re literally making one), raunchiness, slightly OOC Derek, too many damn time skips, more plot than porn, the silliness is more prominent in the beginning but not so much the smut, penetration (unspecified genitals for reader)

(A/n: thankyou thankyou so much to @g0ry0re0 for proofreading, you are literally a lifesaver ilysm. thank you for everyone’s support and anticipation for this fic, you all keep me going ❤️ enjoy!!)

-

“Uhh… ‘CBD-infused intimate oil,’” Derek reads off the box in a curious mutter, turning it around to examine the product and its written features. Then he looked at you with a knowing grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded in agreement, chuckling under your breath as you watched the imminent purchase remain inside of your boyfriend’s grasp.

You and Derek, since being in a relationship of nearly three years, had always found several ways to spice things up in your sex life. The two of you experimented with almost everything in the book, be it edging, near exhibitionism, toys, food play, etc. And of course, while romantic relationships overall meant way more than just the sex, your sex life with him was just too incredible to ignore. Jesus, you could go on and on for days about how amazing the sex was.

Therefore, it wasn’t unusual at all to find the two of you inside of an adult store. Sure, you mostly bought your things online, but since you two were already out and the shop was nearby, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to go in. Plus, the other times you went to the in-person stores were quite beneficial; you were able to see certain sizings of different products and got the necessary and helpful advice from the clerks there.

You and Derek had continued to browse through the raunchy products as you walked down each aisle together. And while the two of you were almost in your thirties, absolutely nothing could deter you two from giggling at some of the ridiculous things sold there. This time, however, you suddenly stopped in your tracks and opened your mouth in complete awe once your eyes had laid upon it.

“Holy fucking shit!” You blurted as you instantly grabbed the tube-shaped box from the shelf in front of you:

‘(GLOW IN THE DARK) CLONE-A-WILLY: THE IN-HOME PENIS MOLDING KIT

MAKE A VIBRATING SILICONE REPLICA OF ANY PENIS (EASY TO MAKE)’

“Is this actually—?” Derek nearly snatches it from you with a fascinated scoff, reading over the description on the packaging. “What the fuck? Do—do people actually do this?”

“Of course they do, I see them, like, everywhere!” You cackled, trying to steal back the box from his grasp. It wasn’t the first time you’ve ever seen it, but it does surprise you every damn time that you do.

“Okay, okay, so… So if I’m getting this right, you could basically make an entire fuckin’ dildo at home… by molding somebody else’s or your own dick?” He raises an eyebrow incredulously.

“Yeah, pretty much,” you wheeze, nodding at him until your smile grew wider in sudden realization. “Shit, baby, you’d take ‘go fuck yourself’s to a whole new level!”

“What the hell, Y/n?” He chuckled, trying not to burst out into any more insufferable laughter, “okay, first of all, who would—Why the fuck would I want to use a replica of my own fucking dick on myself? Like, if anything, it’s you who should be taking it.”

“Hey, you can’t just say that!” You hissed playfully, still smiling from the entire situation you found yourselves in. Suddenly, however, your eyes widened insightfully from an absurd epiphany you just had.

“Wait,” you began. “I mean… You do have a point, considering that your trip is coming up already… Holy shit, imagine that! While you’re going to be gone for a whole fuckin’ week, I could always use this weird clone shit on myself whenever I’m horny! Hell, it’s perfect since you’ve been going to so many business trips lately!” You joked exuberantly before letting out a delighted sigh. “Jesus, baby, this is so ridiculous…”

Chuckling to yourself, you placed the box back on the shelf, prompting a perplexed gaze from Derek—or rather, as he stared at it, a gaze of deep contemplation. You recognized this damn shit-faced look of his. After all, you’ve known him for years.

“Derek—” you began skeptically.

“Hold on, I’m thinking,” he interjects with a thoughtful finger to his chin before a sudden and mischievous smirk appears at his lips. “You know, that actually isn’t a bad idea.”

Completely dumbfounded and taken aback, you raised a suspecting eyebrow. “Wait. You’re not actually considering… I mean, I was just joking around earlier, I wasn’t actually being serious—”

“I know, but think about it, babe! I mean, hell, you even said it yourself! Every time you feel… needy while I’m out, especially on my long business trips, you could always, well… you know,” he grinned darkly, glancing toward the ridiculous sex toy, “and if you want, I could even call you while you—”

“Shush!” You hissed with a slight laugh. “Holy fuck, you’re actually turned on by this freaky shit, aren’t you?!” It was actually quite hypocritical of you to call him out like that, as you tried to push your own feelings of arousal to the side. “I mean, I’d be down, but… Are you actually being for real right now?”

He scoffs at your remarks, crossing his arms. “Yeah, I mean… I’d be lying if I said that the thought of you being that desperate for my cock wouldn’t turn me on.”

“Really? You’re kidding.” You gasp in utter disbelief. Frankly, you never would’ve expected Derek to be into this kind of stuff, even knowing firsthand that he could be pretty extreme. It was most likely the fact that it was a ‘penis molding kit’ that caught you off guard when your boyfriend genuinely considered it. “You’re actually—Because like, while I was joking, you know, I actually still wanted to get it, but I didn’t know if you were down, or—”

“Babe, this might be the weirdest yet sexiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever thought of us doing. Of course I’m down.”

***

After bringing home the very ‘unique’ product the two of you purchased from the adult store, you and Derek had set up in the spacious kitchen of his (which was technically yours too, since you practically lived with him now). With all of your necessary supplies laid out on the counter as well as the kit’s included materials, you made it to the fifth step together. The counter’s surface was crowded with measuring cups, bowls, and the other required items as Derek’s lower half had been completely naked to prepare for the molding process. He was actually already jerking off vacantly, a cock ring against the base of his dick to keep him as hard as he could be for the mold.

“Oh my god, I can’t stop thinking about that,” you chuckle as you began to stir the mix of water with the kit’s included molding powder. “That was so fucking hilarious!”

“You’d think that—” Derek scoffs in amusement, practically interrupting himself. “When the cashier said I looked familiar, you’d think that she would’ve mentioned Danforth Enterprises or, hell, even my mom, right? But she thought—she fucking said—”

“Robby Apples!” You nearly cackle, continuing to mix the bowl’s contents after setting a timer for a minute, “She thought you were a fuckin’ porn star!”

“I—” he scoffs with a wide, amused grin on his lips, “Personally? I don’t see it. I don’t think we look alike, like, at all.”

“Right, right,” you chuckle softly, “but it’s the hair. It’s the hair, baby! The curls and stupid frosted tips, I bet that’s why she assumed that!”

“I mean, yeah, but Y/n… I’m way more famous than him. Like, I’m literally CEO of my company—hell, my mother is the President of the United fucking States! Like, how the hell do you mistake me for someone else?! Let alone a fucking porn star!” Derek huffs playfully, surprisingly not too offended by the mix-up. Usually his ego would be heavily bruised whenever someone didn’t recognize him immediately, but he was having way too much fun with you to even be serious about it. And you loved it.

“But, like…” you began with a slight smile, “to be fair, babe, she works at that sex shop. Her mind must be porn over politics.”

“Hey, just because she works at a sex shop doesn’t mean she’s a porn addict.” Derek then raises an eyebrow as he attempts to call you out, “Now that’s just assuming, isn’t it?”

You scowled, yet a small smirk still creeped upon your lips. “You’re talking to me about assuming? You’re��You say that as if you’re not the most judgmental asshole in the fucking world.”

“Ugh, fair point,” Derek shrugged in acceptance and self-awareness, not even bothering to argue because he knew you were right. Then, he paused thoughtfully. “That is a great slogan, though.”

“What, about assumptions?”

“No, ‘porn over politics.’”

“Oh, yes,” you nod with a hint of sarcasm, “The epitome of Derek Danforth.”

“Uh, no,” he scoffs quickly, “money and superiority is the epitome of Derek Danforth.”

You paused with a grimace on your face. “You did not just refer to yourself in the third person.”

“Wh—You do it all the time!” He exclaims.

“Uh, yeah,” you scoff, “ironically!”

Somehow, you didn’t notice until now that Derek was holding his phone in his hand, looking at the screen as he continued to stroke himself to sustain his erection. “Hey, what are you looking at, by the way?”

His eyes went up to you with an innocent, neutral expression. “Uhhh, your nudes.”

“You’re fucking kidding,” you chuckle.

“Uh, no,” he says, turning his phone around in an attempt to show you. “I’m literally going through them right now—”

“No, ew, don’t show me!” You laugh from embarrassment as you looked down at the mixing bowl you stirred, covering the peripheral view with your hand. As sexy as they were to Derek and to you during the time you were taking them, you really couldn’t take them seriously afterwards.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re embarrassed, babe,” he teases knowingly, making you roll your eyes. “You look so hot in them.”

“Dude—Of course I’m fucking embarrassed!” You reasoned, “I thought it was hot until the post-nut fuckin’ clarity kicked in!”

Suddenly, the timer went off as the two of you laughed softly at your last comment. You were then prompted to instantly focus as you turned off the blaring alarm and grabbed the tube closer to yourself on the counter.

“You fully hard, baby?” You ask casually, beginning to pour the white mixture inside of the tube.

“Yup,” he nodded simply, watching you prepare for the molding process.

After you finished pouring in all of the thick molding substance, you grabbed the tube and walked closer to your boyfriend. “Okay, so we’re just molding your dick now, for like, two… two minutes, I think? And you’re just gonna have to stay hard like that and don’t move too much,” you giggle, “I have to act fast, though, because there’s a reason why the water had to be ninety degrees, alright?”

“Alright,” Derek chuckles, “go ahead, babe.”

After setting up a two minute timer on your phone, you slowly placed the tube full of the ‘molding gel’ over his dick, making some of the white, thick substance drip out onto the floor. The two of you already began to cackle, Derek groaning in slight disgust from the weird feeling that the texture of the paste gave him around his cock.

“This is really fuckin’ messy,” he raises an eyebrow as he watches the leftover mixture spill onto the smooth, quartz tiles of the kitchen floor. “And it feels really… really weird around my dick,” Derek laughs softly.

“Well, we were warned about the mess but… damn, I didn’t know it’d be this crazy,” you chuckle, holding the tube in place, allowing you to stand close to Derek’s naked body. “Also, I know what you’re thinking—You’re not allowed to make a joke about how the molding gel resembles your fucking jizz.” Derek frowns immediately as you giggle at his reaction.

Rolling your eyes, you lean in closer to your lover, placing some soft kisses on his bare shoulder and collarbone. You always believed that Derek’s body was so beautiful, and you couldn’t help but show him how much you loved it all the time. “I’m gonna miss you, you know that?” You mumble with your lips pressed against the warm skin of his shoulder.

“Me too, baby,” he sighs softly, “but I’ll be back before you know it, alright?”

“I’m gonna fuck myself so fucking hard with this weird ass thing when you’re gone.”

“Sorry,” you mumble afterwards, realizing what you had blurted caused Derek to become speechless.

Your filthy words had been delivered so bluntly and casually, gaining a low groan from Derek’s throat. “Fuck. You can’t just—Baby, please tell me you’ll get me off after we do this because, fuck, I’ve been so hard for so fucking long and you’re already making things worse with that kind of talk,” he complains, nearly pleading.

“Jeez, I said I was sorry...” Chuckling, you bury your face in his neck affectionately. “Don’t worry, babe, we have so much time after this. You can fuck me as hard as you want.”

“Fuck…” he moaned at the visual you gave him with your words.

Resting your lips contently in the crook of his neck, you let out a small snicker afterwards. “Dude, I can’t get that stupid fucking meme out of my head…”

“What meme?” Derek asked curiously, no longer focusing solely on his arousal he had for you.

“The fuckin’—Your mom, the Jessica Danforth one that they would—”

“Oh, my god,” he scoffs lightly with a smile, amused by recollection of a popular, new internet meme they made of the US President. “But that one is so fucking stupid.”

“Nuh-uh, it’s iconic because your mom is iconic,” you retort playfully, “and those ‘stupid’ memes ended up being genuine, effective marketing strategies towards her campaign.”

Honestly, it was kind of adorable to Derek that you thought that lousy, new generation memes of her was what mainly helped his mother’s campaign. It was less adorable, however, that it wasn’t really the case. If only you knew…

You leaned in, briefly connecting your soft lips with his, appreciating the intimacy of your closeness that this position bestowed upon the two of you. Your kiss had pushed his underlying guilt aside for now, melting in the short moment of sweetness.

“Hey, when can I get this thing off of me?” He asks suddenly once your lips had parted from each other.

You pursed your lips curiously. “Uhh, well, is it hard yet?”

“Baby, my dick has been hard the entire time for this, you know that.”

“No, I meant—” you giggled breathlessly, “I meant the molding gel, has it hardened yet?”

“Well, it feels like it, sort of,” he remarked with a shrug.

“Eh, we can just wait for the full two minutes,” you suggested, prompting that you both should wait until the timer ends.

Soon enough, the two of you had gone through the entire procedure. You removed the tube from Derek’s cock, placing it on the counter as you mixed the silicone packets together to pour that mixture into the mold. Then, you placed the included vibrator inside the tube through the hole of a cardboard cover that rested on the top of the rim to keep it from sinking completely down into the mold.

“We are… done,” you laugh softly, the two of you looking at the tube filled with liquid silicone, most certainly taking the form of Derek’s dick. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but we are going to have to wait, like, twenty-four hours until we can take it out of the mold.”

“Well, shit. I am actually both fucking terrified and excited to see how it’ll end up looking like,” he shrugs with a slight scoff.

“Your dick, but in a glow-in-the-dark green,” you reply with a simple nod. “So… What now?”

A thoughtful yet mischievous grin appears on Derek’s lips as his eyes trail hungrily over your body.

After eagerly stripping your pants and underwear down, Derek lifted you up on the edge of the kitchen table, lips never leaving yours as he kissed you deeply and passionately. He grabbed onto your thigh, lightly gasping at the rough grip as his other hand slipped under your shirt to feel the soft skin of your back. Derek actually used the hemp oil that you two purchased earlier (alongside the Clone-A-Willy), rubbing it over your sensitive groin, then pleasurably lubricating your entrance. “God, I need you so bad, baby,” he mumbles lustfully, pulling your hips closer to the edge of the counter to line himself up with you.

A soft, yet vocal moan escaped your lips as you feel his rock hard, throbbing cock stretching and pushing through your tight, needy hole. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good,” Derek grunts, eyes half-lidded as he looked at you with lust and admiration. And from this heavenly sensation, you had been reminded that he still had that cock ring on.

You giggled immaturely, “you know, I forgot you even had that o—” He moved both his hands to spread open your thighs, trailing back up to grip your hips as he began to slowly thrust inside of you, making you whine as you placed your hands on his shoulders. “D-Derek—” You choke out a moan as he gradually increases his pace, firmly pushing his hips against yours to get as deep inside of you as he could. His cock was so fucking hard, indisputably caused by the pressure of the ring, but also from how much your sole body turned him on.

The two of your moans echoed in the atmosphere of the kitchen, especially as you wrapped your legs tightly around his back, pushing him in even deeper. “Fuck,” you whined softly, feeling one of his hands trail under the back of your shirt again during each heavy thrust until he finally lifts it off of you, throwing the piece of fabric onto the floor.

Your insides had deliciously gripped Derek’s firm cock so tight, withdrawing a low, prolonged groan from his throat as he then picked up the pace. He pounded deeply into you, head hanging low as he focused on his hard thrusts.

“Shit!” You nearly cry, wrapping your arms around his neck as you started to feel more sensitive. “You’re so fucking hard, hell…”

“Am I usually not?” He teases with a smirk, not ceasing his movements anytime soon.

“Ugh, you know what I mean,” you panted breathlessly. “The fucking cock ring’s, like, making you even harder than you ever been. I can’t believe this only, like, the second time we’ve ever used it.”

“Are you implying that we should use it more?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Hell, yeah,” you replied with a satisfied moan.

“Fuck, baby,” Derek groans, hiding his face in your neck, briefly nipping at your flesh. “Fucking love how tight you feel around my fucking cock.”

You moaned at his sultry words, your arms leaving his neck and holding yourself up with your palms flat on the counter behind you, attempting to grind against his movements. “Fuuuck,” you mumble as your palms shifted behind you, nudging and almost knocking down the Clone-A-Willy tube that was still filled with un-solidified silicone. “Oh, shit!” Gasping in a short panic, you held it steady before it could fall and moved it away to the side.

“Jesus, babe, you almost spilled over my dick,” he scoffs with a chuckle, his thrusts slightly sloppy from this distraction.

“Oh, I’ll spill something over your dick, babe,” you joked swiftly with a playful smirk.

“Oh my god, you’re fucking terrible,” he groaned as a mere, amused smile formed at his lips.

“Shut up, I’m not the one who got mistaken for a porn star,” you retorted, flashing a teasing grin.

“God, never fucking bring that up again,” Derek huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, I will, baby, I will so use it against you,” you claim humorously.

Suddenly, he lifts you up by your ass, away from the counter as he was still pressed deeply inside of you. Holding you up against him in the center of the kitchen floor, he thrusted up inside of you, creating a strong wave of pleasure throughout your entire being.

“Fuck!” You cried as his fingernails dig into the skin of your ass, pushing his cock in and out of your sensitive hole. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, babe, you might not be a porn star, but you sure as hell fuck like one, shit…” The harsh sounds of flesh slapping against flesh echoed lewdly in the kitchen as he continued holding you up, and even guiding and pushing your hips skillfully against his.

Finally, he brought the two of you over on a chair, sitting down against it as you were positioned on top, his dick completely inside of you. “Ride me, baby,” he mutters, cupping your face gently, yet pulling you in urgently for a deep, wet kiss, shoving his tongue through your lips.

Breaking the kiss, Derek’s hands explored and caressed the warm, smooth skin of your body, muttering lustful praises to you. This prompted you to begin moving, placing your hands on his shoulders as your hips would gently grind against his. “Mmm,” you hum softly in pleasure before your head is thrown back the moment you increase your pace.

You let your knees assist you in bouncing on his thick cock, feeling his arms being wrapped around your back tightly to bring you in closely and intimately. “Fuck, baby…” Derek huffs, attempting to move his hips up with yours.

This position was short-lived, however, because of Derek’s urgency to fuck you fast and properly, lifting you back up once again. He made out with you as he held you, kissing your lips roughly and hotly while we stumbled towards the living room to finally throw you down on the couch.

He immediately grabbed your legs, lifting them up to place your ankles over his shoulders, nipping softly at your legs in admiration before thrusting back in.

“Fuck!” He groans, moving his hips at a much rougher and faster rate, practically pounding into you with both lust and love.

“Shit, Derek!” You whimper, feeling his cock slide in and out of you so fluidly, stretching and caressing your sensitive walls. From all the buildup of the previous positions, you felt so close already. “Fuck, baby. I—I’m gonna cum—”

“Just—fuck—hold on a little longer, baby,” he mutters, ramming his dick inside of you without faltering, focusing on driving the both of you to the very edge.

“Baby…” You whined desperately, looking up at him as you felt yourself begin to clench around him. And that really did it for him.

“Fuuuck,” Derek moaned, his movements against you beginning to stagger, “Cum for me, baby, c’mon.”

A loud, whiny moan escaped your lips as your back arched up against him, tensing up as you finally released. Your tight, fleshy walls around Derek prompted him to come right after, spilling his warm, white semen deep inside of you, muttering a few curse words before collapsing on top of you.

The both of you panted heavily, struggling to catch your breaths as you felt each other’s sweaty, naked body against one another’s. You chuckle breathlessly, feeling so content from the overwhelming ecstasy that your orgasm bestowed upon yourself.

“So good,” Derek whispered, kissing your lips in a sloppy, lazy manner, “you did so good for me, sweetheart.”

***

“What in… the actual fuck.”

The next day, after it had been exactly 24 hours since you’ve poured in the silicone inside of the mold, you and Derek took it out, revealing his glow-in-the-dark, cloned dick.

The two of you looked down at the new dildo, then looked at each other before cackling loudly and heartily, your laughs echoing in the kitchen where you had done the reveal.

“Oh, my god, it looks—it looks exactly fucking like it, babe!” You exclaim in disbelief, nearly wheezing as you hold the light green, phallic object in your grasp.

“That is,” he began, trying to recover from his previous, hearty laughter, “fucking insane. It’s so uncanny, like… it looks so real.”

“Dude, look at all the detail!” You urged, small snickers escaping your throat, “like even the veins and the fucking—what—frenulum, like… What the hell?!”

“And it’s such a bright ass neon green, holy shit,” Derek chuckled, continuing to examine the silicone.

“Hey, it matches your entire vibe, at least. You know. Green. Money. Ehh?”

The two of you giggled childishly, enjoying the absolute absurdity of this entire situation. “God, only you, Y/n, could get me to do the stupidest fucking things that I would never be willing to do for, like, anybody else,” Derek remarked with a slight smile.

”Hey, you were up for it too,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes, “I was joking about it first, but you were the one who took it seriously!”

“Uh, you were the one who grabbed it first,” retorted Derek.

“And you were the one who took it seriously when I was joking,” you repeated, chuckling softly in amusement.

“I—” But before he could say anything, he realized that you were right. “God fucking dammit.”

***

Tomorrow, Derek would have left for the business trip, the two of you saying your goodbyes before he would disappear into his private jet. And the day after, as your lover stayed at a luxurious hotel, lounging comfortably on the bed, he received a few texts from you during the night:

Y/n: hey

Y/n: it actually does glow in the dark btw

Y/n: [sent an attachment]

Derek’s eyes widened instantly, jaw dropping at the sight of the diabolically lewd image you had just sent him. Including the familiar, bright green item in the frame, of course.

“Holy fu—”

[lemon-natalia]

Nona the Ninth Reaction - Chapter 31

quick note first of all, would anyone be interested in me also doing a liveblog for 'The Unwanted Guest' as well as these remaining chapters?

and after three books we’re back on the Ninth where this all started. Kiriona’s putting on a bit of a show with the ‘Home sweet home’ thing, but it really can’t be pleasant returning to somewhere she spent an absolutely horrible childhood trying to escape, and without Harrow no less

this might genuinely be the first time there has ever been a dog on the Ninth, i don’t really see the cult of goth priests being big on pets

‘then again, i’m not sure of John period’ yeah me neither, quite frankly even after a book which spends half its page time detailing his backstory i’m still unsure about what exactly his plans and powers are

‘a string of fairy lights wouldn’t have gone amiss’ honestly given Harrow’s general penchant for interior bone design, i think she could be persuaded if the fairy lights were made out of actual bone somehow

ohh holy shit there was a good moment while reading that description of Gideon surrounded by corpses with blood on her sword that i fully thought that she’d come back to the Ninth on some weird revenge mission and just straight up murdered Crux

‘My lady, you have come home to us … at last’ why is this making me feel things for Crux of all people. like he has no idea about Nona, or that Harrow’s lost in the River, or anything she’s been through at all. all he knows is that she left for the First, became a Lyctor, and never communicated or came home again

oh great we’re returning to possibly the creepiest part of GtN with the weird ‘devil’ things. between the duel of the Third and Sixth and possession of Colum Asht, the second half of that book is suddenly becoming very relevant again. while Nona’s been living in a combination slice-of-life/war drama, Kiriona’s life seems to have taken a sharp turn into zombie apocalypse novel. fun!

i’m very intrigued about the little pieces of John and Gideon’s relationship that we get here, notably i think (if i remember correctly) that this is the first time she’s mentioned him as ‘Dad’, seemingly completely sincerely, unlike calling him ‘Pops’ at the end of HtN. and apparently he falsely reassured her that the devils were confined to Antioch, but Kiriona seems to have fully believed him and sounds genuinely upset that he apparently lied about it

wow Crux literally cannot stop hating on Gideon even when he’s actively fucking dying. on one level i can admire the commitment but dude, this level of beef with a literal teenager is ridiculous

‘there was a figure there - dark robes with a pale face’ okay i really can’t figure out what is with the weird stalker figure here. is it Nona having a hallucination of Harrow? just a strange description of one of the nuns?

Pyrrha apparently painted a mint green nursery here a long time ago, i assume for Anastasia’s kid, which would explain the weird remark about helping deliver a baby back in chapter 10. also this implies a version of the Ninth which was at one point not quite so dedicated to the doom-and-gloom-bones-and-death aesthetic, which feels inconceivable to me

well hello Aiglamene long time no see, this is a slightly more welcome return than Crux at least. ngl i really wasn’t expecting to see all these characters from the beginning of GtN again, but it’s interesting to catch up and see how little has really changed there despite all the events of the series

ohhh my god. this is not how i expected a reunion between Aiglamene and Gideon to go. Aiglamene seems so genuinely shaken by the fact that she’s dead, and the fact that she’s apparently very angry at Harrow on Gideon’s behalf, like !! she definitely seems to care about Gideon a lot more than she ever actually let on to her

‘Nona was deeply horrified to see actual walk-around skeletons’ i think Harrow would be mortally offended that anyone in her body could find skeletons horrifying

actually yknow what i take back what i said in GtN about Palamedes, Paul should absolutely not be a therapist with this bedside manner

‘You can’t take loved away’ uh, excuse me for a minute i need to sit in a corner and cry my heart out for a moment. this moment really feels like a summary of a lot of themes in the whole series

ok the final nail in the coffin for my emotional wellbeing at the end of this chapter is that Pyrrha did actually get a birthday present, one that she’ll never be able to give her. here i am completely distraught over cheap moustache rides what have you done to me Tamsyn Muir

istg at least some part of Nona needs to live on. like c’mon Gideon died at the end of the first book and she’s still kicking, Nona can do it too. once again it is nearly the end of a Locked Tomb book and i am in severe denial about probably permanent character death

[lucky-clover-gazette]

prince's gambit highlights & annotations

chapter 19

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

He found he had put himself bodily in Guymar’s way. ‘No. No one goes in.’ Anger, irrationally, blossomed. Behind him was the closed door to the tower rooms, a barrier to disaster. Guymar should know better than to barge in and make Laurent’s mood worse. Guymar should have known better than to cause Laurent’s mood in the first place.

one kiss and he’s fully down bad. like these are max levels of damen down bad-ness. it took one kiss. holy shit dude. we went from “laurent knows everything and is always planning something terrible” to “you will NOT bother my poor little meow meow while he does his silent soliloquy”

‘This time, I want it actually kept clear. I don’t care who is about to get molested. No one is to come here. Is that understood?’ ‘Yes, Captain.’ Guymar bowed and retreated. Damen found himself with his hands braced on the stone crenellation, in unconscious echoing of Laurent’s pose, the line of Laurent’s back the last thing he had seen before he had put the heel of his palm to the door. His heart was pounding. He wanted to make a barrier that protected Laurent from anyone who would intrude on him. He’d keep that perimeter clear, if it meant stalking these battlements and patrolling it himself. He knew this about Laurent. That once he gave himself time alone to think, the control returned, reason won out. The part of him that didn’t want to drop Aimeric with a punch recognised that both Jord and Aimeric had just been put through the wringer. It was a mess that needn’t have happened. If they’d just—steered clear. Friends, Laurent had said, high on the battlements. Is that what we are? Damen’s hands drew into fists. Aimeric was an inveterate troublemaker with terrible timing.

this is so ridiculous damen you have laurent brainrot it is so funny how this has unlocked primal rage and determination in you that literal flogging couldn’t

but keep your head up king, this is the chapter where you get to smash

The idea of stopping, allowing himself a moment to think, was terrible. Outside, there was nothing, just the last hours of darkness, and the long ride in the dawn.

and no more laurent to smooch >:(

‘Watch over the Prince,’ he heard himself say. ‘Anything he needs, make certain he has it. Take care of him.’ He was aware of the incongruity of the words, of his hard grip on the soldier’s arm. When he tried to stop, his grip only tightened. ‘He deserves your loyalty.’

damen said “it’s MY turn on the projection”

His time as Laurent’s Captain had been short-lived. An afternoon. An evening. In that time they’d won a battle and taken a fort. It seemed wild and improbable, a hard-edged golden piece of metal in his hand.

also they’d kissed on the mouth. leaving out a pretty essential detail there damen

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Your servants brought me to the wrong rooms.’ ‘No, they didn’t,’ said Laurent.

pffft did they just know? i’m not sure when laurent could have asked them to do it. so they must have just assumed laurent wanted him there

‘I don’t want to talk about Aimeric,’ said Laurent. ‘Or my uncle.’ Laurent began to come forward.

uh laurent i don’t think damen mentioned the regent at all. i think you’re telling yourself to stop thinking about your uncle because you would like to fuck damen without ptsd making it weird

Laurent said, ‘I know you’re planning to leave tomorrow. You’re going to cross the border, and you’re not going to come back. Say it.’ ‘I—’ ‘Say it.’ ‘I’m going to leave tomorrow,’ said Damen, as steadily as he could. ‘I’m not going to come back.’ He drew in a breath that hurt his chest. ‘Laurent—’ ‘No, I don’t care. Tomorrow you leave. But you’re mine now. You’re still my slave tonight.’ Damen felt the words hit, but that was subsumed in the shock of Laurent’s hand on him, a push backwards. His legs hit the bed. The world tilted, bed silks and roseate light. He felt Laurent’s knee alongside his thigh, Laurent’s hand on his chest. ‘I—don’t—’ ‘I think you do,’ said Laurent.

laurent listened to “dead girl walking” from heathers musical on the way up to the rooms in preparation for this. also i love the mixed feelings here—on one hand, hell yeah laurent, let yourself have this, but also this is fucked up for you both, and you really should talk it out, and the fact that you’re demanding his abandonment before fucking him is concerning, like you only want to fuck if you know he’s leaving anyway, but i mean why not then, if he’s leaving, and you know he wants you, and this is the last night to do it…

also laurent knows damen wants this, and he’s not actually using the slave thing here. the only way he’s using it, is calling damen on what he said earlier that evening before the kissing. cashing in on it, in a way. it’s not exactly healthy but i wouldn’t say it’s like non-consensual or anything

‘What am I doing? You are not very observant.’ ‘You’re not yourself,’ said Damen. ‘And even if you were, you don’t do anything without a dozen motives.’ Laurent went very still, the soft words half bitter. ‘Don’t I? I must want something.’

ooof that hit a sore spot, i think. laurent very badly wants to both lose and take control right now, and sex is a way he’s both lost and had control in the past—lost control to the regent, and had it over damen back in arles. he’s trying not to think about that, about the reasons, and damen is trying to make him think about it, and also implying that laurent can’t just do anything because it’s what he wants or feels.

‘Laurent,’ he said. ‘You take liberties,’ said Laurent. ‘I never gave you permission to call me by my name.’ ‘Your Highness,’ said Damen, and the words twisted, wrong in his mouth. He needed to say, Don’t do this. But he couldn’t think past Laurent, improbably close. He felt each shifting inch that divided their bodies with a fluttering, illicit sensation at Laurent’s proximity. He closed his eyes against it, felt his body’s painful yearning. ‘I don’t think you want me. I think you just want me to feel this.’ ‘Then, feel it,’ said Laurent.

“i don’t think you want me, i think you just want me to feel this” is an INSANE and deeply true line. but also, i think laurent does want damen—HIS damen, not damianos. and this is the last night he can have his damen.

and maybe laurent enjoys your reactions, damen. ever think about that?

‘You liked this too, with Ancel.’ ‘That wasn’t Ancel,’ said Damen, the words coming out, raw and honest. ‘That was all you, and you know it.’

LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOO

The rise and fall of Laurent’s hand was like the slide of Laurent’s words, like every frustrating argument that they’d ever had, stymied, tangled up in Laurent’s voice.

great line. love how it ties the sex act to something deeper between them

Laurent held his former mood within him, constrained, and converted into something else.

horny and angry is not the ideal way for them to fuck for the first time, and for laurent to fuck for the first time since [redacted], but since when has anything been ideal for laurent (or damen, as of book 1)

He felt Laurent pulling back, pulling away, shuttering himself, trying but not quite able to manage a cool snap withdrawal. Laurent said, ‘Adequate.’

book 1: “Laurent turned to Damen. ‘Well?’ Laurent said. ‘Can you couple adequately, or do you just kill things?”

He’d caught Laurent’s wrist before, to hold him back from a blow, a knife strike. He held him now. He could feel the desperate urge for retreat. He could feel something else too, Laurent keeping himself apart, as though, this act being finished, he had no template for what to do. ‘Kiss me,’ he said again.

this is so good. it’s good for all the things damen knows, and all the things he doesn’t know. because he’s doing good here, even without the truth about the regent clicking. he’s helping laurent figure this out, confidently and compassionately, and showing him that he doesn’t need to retreat.

Dark-eyed, Laurent was holding himself in place as though pushing himself past a barrier, the tension in Laurent’s body still telegraphing flight, and Damen felt the shock with his whole body when Laurent’s gaze dropped to his mouth. His own eyes fell closed as he realised that Laurent was going to do this, and he held himself very still. Laurent kissed with a slight parting of his lips, as though he was unconscious of what he was asking for, and Damen kissed him back carefully, dizzy with the idea that the kiss would deepen.

see my previous comments about trauma and my appreciation for laurent as a romantic interest/lead

For a moment, looking felt like kissing, an exchange in which the distinctions of intimacy blurred.

"distinctions of intimacy blurred" is such a succinct way to summarize the way pacat writes the overall romantic arc. they do not need to be fucking to be fucking, and when they are fucking, they're doing other stuff too

It was not what Laurent had expected. He felt the slight shock of Laurent’s surprise, and the way Laurent held himself, as though confused as to why Damen wished to do this, but he felt the moment when surprise turned to something else.

“confused as to why damen wanted to do this” yeah that’s pretty typical for laurent

Damen allowed himself the minor delight of nuzzling.

fantastic line

He lifted his fingers to the tie that closed Laurent’s collar. He had been trained to do this, he knew every intricate fastening.

talk about setup and payoff...

Exposed, Laurent’s nipples were hard and puckered, the first tangible evidence of desire, and Damen felt a wild surge of gratification. His eyes lifted to Laurent’s. Laurent said, ‘Did you think I was made of stone?’ He couldn’t stop the rush of pleasure he felt at that, said, ‘Nothing you don’t want.’ ‘You think I don’t want it?’ Seeing the look in Laurent’s eyes, Damen deliberately pushed him back onto the sheets.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

okay big turning point! probably the first major tell we’ve gotten of laurent being out of control of his reactions, AND he isn’t ashamed of it and asks for more!!! massive laurent (and damen) w!!!

Lifting a hand idly to the exact place above his head where Damen might have pressed it, Laurent gazed back at him through veiled lashes. ‘Like being on top, do you?’ ‘Yes.’ Never more so than at this moment. To have Laurent beneath him was heady.

they’re both having so much fun in different but complimentary ways. laurent enjoys what he’s doing to damen, damen enjoys what laurent is doing to him. they’re both getting something out of it, which i don’t think damen fully understood what he said that thing about laurent not wanting him, but wanting to make him feel. he wants it because it’s you specifically, dummy.

Despite the cool tone, he was aware of the extent to which Laurent was holding himself in place, allowing himself to be touched. Tension still glinted in Laurent’s body, like the shine on a blade edge that would slice you open at the wrong touch.

Damen let himself experience dizzily just how much he liked the idea of controlled Laurent betraying himself in salt flavoured need into his mouth. He touched it with his hand and encountered a texture like hot silk.

i like how pacat finds these ways to say what’s going on, but in a much more compelling and beautiful way than just “damen wanted to blow him” and “his dick was nice”

‘I am not going to reciprocate.’ Damen looked up. ‘What?’ Laurent said, ‘I am not going to do that to you.’ ‘And so?’ ‘Do you want me to suck your cock?’ said Laurent, precisely. ‘Because I don’t plan to. If you are proceeding on the expectation of reciprocity, then you had best be forewarned that—’ This was too convoluted for bed play. Damen listened, satisfied himself that in all of this talking there was no actual objection, then simply applied his mouth.

LOVE THIS. how complicated traumatized laurent trying to deflect is just washing over damen, he doesn’t care if it’s not reciprocal, he just wants to make laurent feel good. something laurent doesn’t understand or expect because sex for him has always been about making [redacted] feel good and that’s it. and laurent’s bitchiness here is so tenderly and funny and in character. he delivered a “precise treatise on cocksucking” in book 1, of course he’d regard this like a business negotiation

For all his seeming experience, Laurent reacted like an innocent to this pleasure. He let out a soft shocked sound, and his body re-formed around the place where Damen was giving his attention. Damen held Laurent in place, hands to hips, and allowed himself to enjoy Laurent’s slight, helpless shifts and pushes, the quality of his surprise, and the hard act of repression that followed, as Laurent tried to even out his breathing.

damen associates sex with happily giving and receiving pleasure, so he’s confused/surprised by laurent’s unfamiliarity with actually getting attention and enjoying himself

Laurent was, by far, the most controlled lover Damen had ever taken to bed.

damen a lot of them were slaves. coached to make you feel like a god. just saying

And felt it stymied. As rhythm built, Laurent’s body locked down, his responses repressed. Looking up, he saw that Laurent’s hands were fists in the sheets, his eyes closed, his head turned to one side. Laurent, out on the shattered edge of pleasure, was holding himself back from climax by sheer force of his impossible will.

again i say, i’m so glad to see someone like laurent as the love interest in a romance novel, holy shit

After a long moment Laurent said, with painful honesty, ‘I . . . find it difficult to let go of control.’ ‘No kidding,’ said Damen.

:) a really nice tension-breaking way to find a little humor in it all, made even lighter by damen’s lack of awareness re: [redacted]

‘You want to take me, as a man takes a boy.’

this is the first moment where i’m just like DAMEN. truly. how are you not guessing this. i get that it’s consistent with his character to not assume the worst, but oh my god

‘You make it sound simple.’ ‘It is simple.’

The words fell into a stillness between them. Laurent’s breathing was shallow, and his cheeks were flushed as he closed his eyes, as though he wanted to block out the world. ‘I want,’ said Laurent, ‘I want it to be simple.’

‘Yes,’ said Laurent. ‘But—wasn’t it—’ ‘Will you stop talking about it.’ The words were ground out.

oh he’s trying so hard to let himself have this. probably before he feels really ready but it’s his last night with damen so!!

For all his bizarre nervy tension, Laurent was indisputably eager, physically. Damen searched his blue eyes. ‘Contrary, aren’t you,’ said Damen softly, thumbing over Laurent’s cheek. ‘Fuck me,’ said Laurent. ‘I want to,’ said Damen. ‘Can you let me?’ He said it quietly, and waited, as Laurent’s eyes closed again, a muscle sliding in his jaw. The idea of being fucked very clearly had Laurent out of his mind, as desire competed with some sort of convoluted mental objection that really needed, Damen thought, to be dispensed with. ‘I am letting you,’ said Laurent, the terse words pushing out. ‘Will you get on with it?’

this is so well-written, both what’s in the lines and what’s in between them. it’s a sex scene but it’s also a masterful scene of dramatic irony and characterization for them both

He watched Laurent’s face, the slight flush, the fractional changes of his expression, his eyes wide and dark. It was intensely private.

of course he's in his own head. that's laurent, for better or for worse

He felt some sense that he needed to hold onto this, to hold it tight and never let it out of his grip. You’re mine, he wanted to say, and couldn’t. Laurent didn’t belong to him; this was something he could have only once. His chest hurt.

To get what you want, you have to know exactly how much you are willing to give up. Never had he wanted something this badly, and held it in his hands knowing that tomorrow it would be gone, traded for the high cliffs of Ios, and the uncertain future across the border, the chance to stand before his brother, to ask him for all the answers that no longer seemed so important. A kingdom, or this.

i don’t have much to add here. it’s being explained perfectly in the text. it's nice to be at this point of understanding with the characters and plot that things can come together like this, thematically, on the page.

[tyrantisterror]

Early Wizard School Mysteries Concept Art Pt. 1: 2017 & 2018

Wizard School Mysteries Book 3: Wicked Witchcraft has been available for purchase in paperback and kindle editions for about a week now, and to do my due diligence as this series' author, editor, and marketing executive, I've gotta make a post about it to annoy you all with so that maybe more people read it and build up a bigger audience for the next one.

So! To accomplish that in a way I find palatable, I've dug up some very old concept art for the series, and am going to parade it out for your enjoyment! Come, look upon my old art and despair be inspired to buy my books!

We're going to start with the earliest sketches I could find, which is from 2017. I kind of adore how ridiculously enormous I made James's hat in this early sketch - it's so huge that he actually has a strap to keep it on his head (look close, you can see it!). His design has a lot of touches from Wizardmon that didn't make it to the final product, namely the abundance of stitches and false faces on his outfit. He's also got a sort of ascot which I'm pretty sure is an homage to Fred from Scooby Doo, because he's in the same role as Fred in our Mystery Solving Teens group. Jesus, that's a big hat.

2017 Ivan doesn't seem too different on a surface glance, though his outfit feels too clean/new to me. It looks nice, but doesn't convey a lot of his character to me.

Ew, 2017 Gretchen, why are you white? Well, ok, the clear answer is because you're just Wizard Velma Dinkley at this point, but hey, at least you've got your iconic scarf!

Jesus Crumbs, I really did not give my human characters enough skull above the eyes to contain a proper brain, did I? A lot of Margot's key visuals are still present here - the gauntlet, the high collar, the partially armored boots - but just, you know, a bit worse, a bit less uniquely designed. She's called Joan at this point because hey, it's from 2017, when the author who everyone associated with wizard schools whose first name happens to be Joanne hadn't gone fully mask off about being a TERF yet, and I could name a wizard character I like "Joan" without worrying that people might think it's a reference to said writer (when it was intended as a reference to Joan of Arc instead).

2017 Rodrigo is pretty recognizable, actually. Kinda weird to me that I had his look pinned down so early compared to the others - though his staff here definitely doesn't fit his status as the most well-off wizard of the bunch, so I can see why I changed it to something more sleek later.

By contrast, 2017 Serena is basically a completely different character on every level. No magical girl trappings, no pigtails, I don't think she was even Asian yet. The name "Cerrigwen" had been given to at least one other character I ended up scrapping for a different project before this, and I'd thought I found a home for it here, but obviously not (though a Cerrigwen did get mentioned as a historical important wizard in WSM Book 2, so maybe I'll find a story for her eventually). Serena's role in the Mystery Solving Teens dynamic is "the weird one," but for whatever reason I wrote "the Joy and the Laughter" here instead. I do think Serena's personality is shining from this design, even if none of the actual details are recognizable - the manic bubbliness here would carry on in all future designs.

Charlotte also looks recognizable at first glance, and I think in some ways she's more explicitly monstrous/nonhuman here. I don't know if that's to her benefit, though? The gangly limbs feel very awkward, like they don't quite fit her frame, and her face is a bit too inexpressive (also holy shit that hat is hilariously too small, it's the opposite of 2017 James's hat). I like the hairy feet and fingers, but it does kinda bog down her design with unnecessary detail.

Holy Christ 2017 Polybeus, you're a fucking nightmare. What's going on with your face? And why are you so skinny? Why are all these people so goddamn skinny?

Let's move to the next year, I don't like looking at this guy. He looks like he'd be voiced by Pauly Shore or Andy Dick. Awful.

2018 James takes the 2017 design and refines it a bit - still has the ascot, has even MORE Wizardmon style false faces and stitches, still has the enormous hat, just all tightened up a bit. I think the problem with this look comes through when comparing the polished design with the sketches I abandoned halfway through above it - namely, the freaky Wizardmon look just doesn't fit with the quiet, deep-thinking personality James is supposed to exude. It looks rad as hell, yes, but it's flashy and chaotic in an attention-claiming way, which doesn't fit James's analytical nature. Good design elements that just didn't fit the character they were slapped onto.

2018 Ivan is also a refinement of his 2017 self, and I like his wacky little pose here - it really communicates his accident prone nature. But he still feels too polished, the outfit can be pushed farther.

Gretchen's looking a bit more like herself now - she's got more layers draping over her body, longer hair to cover her face, and the little tassels on the end of her scarf. Is she still white, or was I just a coward who thought I could just give her a dark skin tone while still drawing her with a straight bob cut and call it good? Not sure.

Margot's getting closer to her current self too - slightly longer face and nose, a bun where her pony tail will eventually go, and I think she's got broader shoulders than her first design? The gauntlet still doesn't feel like it's got the right personality but it's a bit more unique than the first take, and that's progress.

The only big differences I see with 2018 Rodrigo and his current self - beyond the fact that I got better at drawing humans (still not enough room in this drawing's cranium for a human brain) - is that I kinda toned him down from here. This Rodrigo's more or less his current self, but more flamboyant.

Alright, Serena's definitely Asian here, and her costume feels more distinct than her 2017 self, but still doesn't really match her personality. I definitely wanted her outfit to showcase her energetic nature, but the big bulky layers just don't fit. She needs bows and ribbons!

Ok, Charlotte's coming together better too! Still a bit too awkardly gangly, but her face is getting that sweet, friendly look a bit better.

oh thank god

2018 Polybeus is such an upgrade. His outfit's pretty close to what he'd end with, and he's beginning to get that onion-esque hairdo his modern self has, although here it's a bit more like devil horns, befitting his status as an antagonist-turned-ally. Still too thin, though, you gotta start weight training Poly!

That's it for part 1! Next we're skipping to 2020, because for whatever reason I don't have any sketches from 2019.

[queer-and-dear-books]

Title: Blue Flag

Author: KAITO

Genre: Comics | Friendship | Romance | LGBTQ+

Content Warnings: Homophobia | Sexism | Mentioned Sexual Assault

Overall Rating: 9.8/10

Personal Opinion: One of my favorite stories ever. It’s a bittersweet journey as we follow Taichi Ichinose, Toma Mita, and Futaba Kuze navigate their last year of high school together. Along the way, they struggle against gender norms and the curse of falling for someone you can never have. I love these characters with my whole heart. They actually inspired one of my novel ideas, the only one I ever finished so this manga has a special place in my heart.

Do I Own These Books? Yes! The photos I used for this post actually are of my own copies.

Spoilers Below For My Likes & Dislikes:

Likes:

- That ending! Holy fucking shit! Taichi is presented as the main protagonist in this series so when we reach the epilogue, we naturally assume that we’re in Taichi’s POV. We’re led to believe that since one of the first things that character does is write the name “Ichinose” at Futaba’s wedding. But then post-wedding, we see Taichi! By process of elimination, the only possible character that could be the POV is Toma! Meaning Taichi and Toma got married! And we know they are married because they live together, they hold hands in the epilogue, and they’re both wearing rings. I squealed. It was such a twist but it also didn’t come out of left field. Toward the end of the series, there were hints that Taichi had reciprocated Toma’s feelings, he just never knew loving men could be an option for him until Toma confessed! Ugh, that epilogue was just so good.

- Anyway, let’s talk about some of the other stuff. I adore the art style. It’s cute and wholesome and each of the characters have their own flavor. Toma exudes big dog energy. Taichi is indeed a tiny gremlin with a good heart. And Futaba is a hamster through and through. The way their drawn matches their personalities so well. And specifically, I love the way the artist drew Toma’s smile. It’s just so radiant and beautiful, I had a crush on him by the end of the series.

- Mami speaks to me on a spiritual level. Why can’t men and women be just friends? Why can’t a girl just hang out with the bros? Why can’t guys wear makeup and why can’t girls play video games? Why should she be cut out from friend groups just because she interacts with a guy? It’s ridiculous and the unfortunate part is, I’ve seen girls treated the way Mami has and it disgusts me. So to see her find a friend in Taichi and Toma and Futaba after everything she went through in middle school, I just wanted her to be happy. And honestly, she had such a badass moment when she said, “Screw everyone else, I’m doing what I want when I want.”

- Mad respect for Shingo for always being there for Mami even when his girlfriends would tell him they were jealous of her. Like fuck you, he was friends with Mami first, why should he stop hanging out with her just because you’re insecure? He also only fought Toma to protect Mami and I love that. But he has no ulterior motives, no romantic interest in Mami, he sees her as a woman but more importantly, as his best friend.

- The deep conversations where Masumi would allude to her sexuality were always so gripping. Like, I really felt for her whenever she was lamenting being in love with a girl and being unable to find happiness with a guy. But Mami was also right that Masumi needed to meet people halfway. Seeing them cry together really tugged at my heartstrings.

- The board game that Taichi and Toma came up with together is such a cute ass detail. Landing on a space where everyone gets friendship power? Ingenious. But the part that really got me was Toma putting their character pieces inside of the charm he gave Taichi, that got me so emotional. “Friendship Power” fuck you, I’m in tears.

- One of my favorite moments was the festival. Toma in a yukata and the girls in kimonos was so great, they looked amazing! But also, that was when Toma gave Taichi his birthday present and I just about bawled my eyes out over it.

Dislikes:

- Kensuke. The source of all the homophobia and vulgar sexism in this series. I hate him. I do understand where some of his homophobia comes from considering his past but the girls were right when they said that has nothing to do with Toma. Anyway, Kensuke isn’t even who I have a big problem with. No, it’s actually Shingo. Yo, he said to the girls that they were just like Kensuke for not tolerating his intolerance. BITCH! And the story framed it like he was right. Ugh, that’s fucked up.

- I wanted more of Taichi and Toma. I want to know how they got together. What happened in between the main story and the epilogue, please tell me KAITO! I need to know how they found each other and fell in love!

[thecleverqueer]

Random Thoughts during The Clone Wars Movie:

*Full discretion: I’ve never watched this before. I’ve watched the series (some arcs I’ve watched an embarrassing number of times). I’ve heard people bitch about this being terrible, so I’m excited about it! Here we go!

*Clone radio chatter… Hmm…

*I find it odd that the Jedi would help Jabba the Hutt, but I’ll let it pass. Oh, but of course it’s Palpatine’s idea. Oh, trade routes, blah, blah, blah. Of course, it’s political.

*Wullf Yularen looks so young. Wow. All that dark brown hair and lack of wrinkles (or maybe the lack of wrinkles has to do with the primitive CGI).

*I love how Anakin and Obi-Wan argue like an old married couple. Like, dude… you’re being very, VERY passive aggressive. “Well, it wasn’t MY idea!”

*I’ve never really understood why folks always pet R2-D2’s head. Everyone does it. Literally everyone. Is it because he’s cute, or does he have some sort of circuitry up there that allows him to feel? Both?

*Through all my Ahsoka simping, I don’t talk enough about how much I truly love, LOVE Obi-Wan Kenobi. I adore Obi-Wan Kenobi. He’s such a bad ass. He seems like a guy that should be reading a book quietly in private library some place while sipping tea, and yet here he is out in the galaxy just slaying.

*Why is Anakin being the voice of reason here!? No! He’s right. It absolutely isn’t a good idea to bring a padawan learner into battle like that. It’s war. They’re literally children. You’re making them child soldiers. Stop it! Quit being crazy!

*Holy shit! Ahsoka is so tiny! Obi-Wan is like, “A youngling!?” Oh! Squee! She’s so ridiculously small! Ugh, they should have given the little thing Jedi robes... Poor little ‘Soka!

*Ooo! I didn’t know Ventress was in this. Maybe I did? I don’t know.

*I love Rex. When referring to Ahsoka for the first time, he’s like, “who is this child?”

*Hey! Rex and Ahsoka are having that same conversation from Rebels almost:

Rex says, “In my book, experience outranks everything.” Then Ahsoka goes, “Well if experience outranks everything, then I better start getting some.” Cute. For the record, Rex, she’s definitely going to outrank you… later.

*Obi-Wan is always so quick to surrender. He’s going to choose to charm/ sweet-talk/whore his way out of violence and/ or buy time every time.

*Yikes! Ahsoka f*^%s up royally when attempting to set those charges on that shield generator. She’s just a baby, so you can’t be too mad at her for f*^%ing up like that as she’s really got no business on a battlefield in the first place honestly. “Sorry!” Don’t be sorry, Ahsoka. It’s not your fault.

*Obi-Wan sipping tea. I love to see it.

*That conversation that Anakin has with Ahsoka about her making it as his padawan is so sweet. Then, they start playing Ahsoka’s theme… how adorable!

*Yoda says, “To let go of his pupil, a greater challenge this will be. Master this, Skywalker must.” I get Yoda’s angle here. Anakin’s arduous issues with attachment need to be addressed. It didn’t seem to matter much in the end though. I’d say he did let go of Ahsoka. It was his irrational fear of losing Padme that got him (that and old Palpatine being a manipulative cocksplat).

*The council sending Obi-Wan to make a deal with Jabba because he’s such a smooth talker.

*Wow. A bunch of alien heads on a gurney… This is a kids’ movie.

*Jabba calls his child a “punky muffin.” Interesting. What do the Hutts know of muffins?

*Do monasteries usually have detention levels?

*Holy shit, Ahsoka! A protocol droid calls her a servant girl, and she nearly slices it in half! Not that I don’t appreciate the moment of feminist rage, I do, but, hey, it’s okay there, spunky! Chill. You’ll be a Jedi… well, maybe… jury is still out on that one.

*So, I am 40 minutes in, and I’m trying to figure out why Ahsoka got so much vitriolic hate when people first watched this. She’s clearly stubborn, impatient, reckless, slightly obnoxious and a little arrogant, but she’s just a baby. She’s like 14 here, right? I think? She’s no more annoying than any other teenager would be.

I’m assuming that I’m not being bias here because I fell in love with Ahsoka in Rebels and she can do no wrong in my eyes, but I don’t think that I am? So, what was it? Did folks just have their drawers bunched up so tight about canon breaking or whatever? Could they not overlook her being a typical teenaged turd in this? Was it just because she is a girl?

*Ahsoka already has auntie vibes at 14. IYKYK.

*How dare Ventress force choke Rex! I love his resolve to not do what she says. Oh. Jedi mind trick… never mind.

*OMG! Ahsoka called the droidekas “Rolling death balls.” I can’t.

*Um… aside from “Ahsoka’s Theme” which always brings me joy when I hear it because… Ahsoka… this soundtrack leaves A LOT to be desired. What is this? This kind of reminds me of something I might have heard in The Power Rangers or that X-Men cartoon from the 90s.

*Obi-Wan flirts with everyone. This flirting with Ventress is cracking me up. Now Ventress is flirting back. Is this a ship!? It isn’t as fun as Codywan to me, but hey. Straight ships never are.

*I feel like everyone ends up on Tatooine at some point or another. It’s like a dust-bowl fly trap.

*Yeah. The soundtrack is f*^%ing awful.*Grits teeth*

*Bith Bands on Tatooine > Bith Bands on Coruscant.

*This queer-coded Hutt bothers me. I know I’ve seen him in The Clone Wars, and I know that Filoni tried to sell me on the fact that he was with Sy Snootles, but he’s clearly meant to be a flamboyantly queer, and I’m miffed.

The one constant with homosexual/ queer-coded characters is that we’re ALWAYS the f*^%ing bad guy. Do we make great bad guys? Compelling bad guys? Probably. Gays will go scorched-earth if the occasion warrants it. But, why?! Why must we always be bad? We’re not all bad! Most of us are awesome.

*He’s a southern gay, too. Damn. I just picture him in a swanky gay bar in Atlanta some place hitting on, like, the youngest twink in the room. He probably drives a luxury sedan and is paying for all of the twink’s drinks. Somebody’s getting laid tonight!

*What is up with that feather hat on this queer Hutt’s head? Oh, honey, no…. Why? Why? Why? Filoni should feel shame for this.

*And, what’s going on with that Twi-lek dancer back behind him to the left all but twerking? Get it, girl! Get it! Twerk it!

*Padme getting herself into some shit.

*Okay, Ahsoka calling R2 “artooey” is a little annoying… still not annoying enough to hate her guts.

*I can’t get over this stupid Hutt! Goddammit. Why doesn’t he gurgle and speak Huttese like the rest of the Hutts? Why does he sound like a giant slug from Georgia?! Why, Filoni, why!?

*Awww! Anakin putting his hand on Ahsoka’s shoulder at sunset, and she so stinking cute and small!

*There goes Count Dooku with his force lightning. Force lightning is one of those powers that I wish I had. No. I’d want force storm. To hell with playing around, I want to just lift my hand up and an entire room of enemies drop dead… that was always my favorite power in KOTOR. Just brutal. But, I need to stop. I’m being an evil gay.

*Hold up! Is this Hutt RUNNING a swanky gay bar on Coruscant!? FFS… Ziro shame. Absolutely none….

*Sigh* The luxury sedan is the Star Wars version of a black Cadillac CT5 with white leather interior and a wood grained trim, by the way. He barely fits into it because he’s a goddamned space slug, but he manages. He smokes cheap cigarettes, but only drinks from the top shelf. He has an army of twinks… he won’t remember the name of the one he’s getting wasted tonight... Dammit!

*Dude! Anakin! SMH. He just waltzes into Jabba’s palace and goes, “where’s Ahsoka?” You literally JUST SAW DOOKU’S HOLO OF HER ASS GETTING KICKED BY THREE DROIDS! So… you should have found her before you did anything else. Goddammit man, don’t be an idiot!

*You bring back the slugglet, but Jabba is going to kill your asses anyway (no, not really, we know y’all survive).

*Padme saving the day through diplomacy as Padme does.

*Final thought: it wasn’t as bad as I’d feared.

[blooming-violets]

@liz-allyn​

I don’t want to reblog that post and make it any longer than it needs to be. Instead I’m making you you’re own post because I’ve been thinking about this a lot the past few days and letting it rumble around in my brain and I need you to know about it. 

The very first thing that comes to mind when I think of anything you wrote, like if someone screamed your name at me, this would be the first thing that showed up without hesitation: The tunnel collapse scene in Heat of the Moment. I’ve never read such pure action, horror, gore, and desperation done so beautifully before. My favorite part of reading a really good book is when the rest of my environment starts to fade away and I’m no longer in my room but in the scene with the characters. That’s what happened when I read that part of HOTM. I tunnel visioned (pun intended) into that moment with them. I swear I could almost hear, smell, and see everything they were. It was so visceral. So real. So terrifying. So gruesome. So fucking beautiful. Holy shit. Not be weird but I think that’s how you died in a previous life. There’s no other possible explanation on how you captured the horrors of that without having literally lived died through it. Okay, maybe you’re just a brilliant writer or whatever but still. I WAS THERE WITH THEM, LIZ. I was smelling the burned hair and car fumes, listening to the screams, and feeling the icy water rising. I don’t think I’ve ever even read an actual novel where I felt more anxious than I did reading this Spider-Man fanfiction. I think you’re a god. The fact that Peter dies this time instead of only her. That fact that she now gets to feel the pain that he’s been feeling this whole time before things get reset. The simplicity and horror of this line alone “You realize you can’t hear the baby anymore.” was enough to break me. I went back to reread that scene for this post and even just skimming through it was enough to make my stomach ache with anxiety. 

The second: Peter desperately swinging through the city to save his girlfriend in 1 Missed Call. When all his senses start to heighten to a ridiculously high level in his panic, when he can’t think of anything but getting to her as fast as he can, and then when he finally finds her kasdjf;aklsdjf. This whole section “They looked pathetic, younger now as they shrank in terror. They were sniveling boys spat out of some college fraternity. They trembled before him, horrified that they were about to meet a different Spider-Man, one they’d heard rumors about.” Gives me fucking chills. “A different Spider-Man, one they’d heard rumors about” makes me want to howl at the moon, rip off my clothes, and run around screaming. 

Third: These Violet Delights when Peter’s Spidey flexes stop Kilgrave. That’s hot. That whole fic was right up my alley and true perfection and I’m sad you didn’t think it got the response you were hoping for. For the peeps who love darkness, this was everything I could have ever asked for. I know the response to this fic lead you to write Sugar and Vice which is nice because that story is wonderful...but Violet Delights is my kind of mob love story. And this part, “With a tear-soaked growl that turned into an agonized scream, Peter gripped Kilgrave’s jaw with enough pressure to crack the bone. The ridges of his fingertips buried themselves into his flesh. With a final howl, Peter snatched his hand back. And with it, he ripped the jawbone from Kilgrave’s skull.” was the sexiest thing Peter Parker has ever done and what I hope John in S&V has a similar end. 

[suspeakan]

Holy shit, the comments on this post are RANCID. Just goes to show how fucking stupid people can be—like, I mean, you don't see cesspools of liberalism and idealism like the comment section here every day.

And before I have to say it later, shut up and stop saying "idc about religion on a personal level, it's their choice... [etc]" because this opinion you typed is a waste of your body's energy.

Let's start with the obvious—the meme is "ridiculing" or "making fun of" the racist notion that European colonization "civilized" the Indigenous peoples of NA and SA, and while obviously the colonists, by replacing the Indigenous, were more "advanced", and part of that was because they were stealing their land and the African slave trade, the racist part of it comes from the presupposed "necessity of civilizing the savages", and Christianizing them.

[Comment #1: "you, antitheist! are you normal about jewish and muslim folks?"] — (This sounds like the Christian persecution complex, but I doubt this person is anything but an Agnostic Atheist). This is something that is probably common wherever atheists and religious people interact, I wouldn't know, because I don't spend time fighting over the legitimacy or illegitimacy of, to be snide, fairy tales.

Firstly, more criticism is probably, and rightly, lobbed at Christianity than Judaism and Islam, because Christianity is the dominant religion of European capitalist-imperialist and colonialist oppression throughout history, of power; not to mention its vulnerability, the Bible has been picked to shreds at this point (not to say other scriptures, holy books and texts aren't as equally pathetic, but it is by far the most well-known), so it's the first and biggest target.

The Issue

The problem with most atheists when they criticize religion, is that they very often get caught in the "trap" of using religious logic and doctrine to disprove itself (for example: pointing out contradictions in the Bible, and using its own words against itself), which has (1) been done a million times already; and (2) is not required to prove religion as false, to demystify it and to reveal what it really is, a social manifestation of material suffering and tool of social control and oppression. Instead, we (atheists) should expose it for its role in the socio-economic machinery of current and historical capitalist and pre-capitalist societies—or, in other words, its true nature.

The works of philosophers and scholars, from Feuerbach to Marx, have laid bare the illusionary nature of religious (and idealist) beliefs and demonstrated how they function as ideological superstructures supporting class societies. In the realm of philosophy, the materialist critique has already triumphed over the idealist foundations of religious thought.

Some books on the subject of Materialism, in the order I would start them in:

Materialism and The Dialectical Method — Maurice Cornforth (Optional: Dialectical and Historical Materialism — J. V. Stalin) (This is a BIG leap) Materialism and Empirio-Criticism, Critical Comments on a Reactionary Philosophy — V. I. Lenin Anti-Dühring (Herr Eugen Dühring's Revolution In Science) — Friedrich Engels The German Ideology — Karl Marx

[Any further edits or clarifications will be formatted like so: [example]]

[blueberry-ash]

Writer’s Month 2024, Day 12 (‘library’)

TKA, Baozi/Luo Ji. Some kinda university AU. Luo Ji just wants to focus on his essay; unfortunately (fortunately) for him, Steamed Bun exists. T-rated for Luo Ji's internal swearing. Look, don’t think Luo Ji swears out loud especially often—maybe he saves it for special occasions—(definitely it’s growing more frequent the longer he hangs around with the Happy crew)—but I am apparently immensely fond of the idea of him being consistently foul-mouthed within the privacy of his own mind. As a little treat, y’know?

.

Luo Ji just wants to write his paper.

He’s comfortable in the library. He has his shit organised the exact way he likes. The ambient noise is the right level of busy-but-hushed. It’s good, and it's peaceful, and there’s no sane reason why he shouldn’t be able to focus the way he usually does; he has a system, a method, a carefully mapped-out routine, and he—

He has a brain full of a stupid jock with bright hair and an even brighter smile.

Fuck, Luo Ji hates it.

He hates it even more when he sees the source of his annoyance walking carefully toward him—picking his way around library tables with this ridiculously exaggerated care, like some kind of Scooby Doo routine. It’s like Steamed Bun’s never been in a library before, what the shit.

‘Brought you coffee,’ Steamed Bun whispers. His hair brushes coolly against Luo Ji's face, wintery and soft.

Luo Ji huffs and accepts the coffee, thinking at least it’ll help him focus, and—fuck, it’s his exact goddamned order, the one that always makes baristas get this slightly pinched expression, and Luo Ji could kiss Baozi—he could kiss him on his stupid, clever mouth—but Luo Ji won’t, because Luo Ji has standards. Theoretically. And libraries aren’t for kissing.

Luo Ji groans. ‘Sit down and shut up and keep me company already, oh my god.’

If Baozi’s smile was bright before then it’s brilliant now.

And makes no sense, truly. Nothing about any of this makes any kind of sense, but: having Bun beside him—having Bun here, simply messing around on his phone, carefully quiet and happy and toying with the edge of Luo Ji’s jumper... it sends Luo Ji right into the zone. Like this is what helps him focus now. Like this is what sets the mechanics of his brain to deep and reliable whirring.

Luo Ji is doomed. He’s so utterly, fucking doomed. And he’s absolutely going to relax his rule about kissing in the library—he is, he knows he is, he’s going to back this idiot up against the spines of some poor, defenseless books and get his hands in his hair, holy fuck—but...not right now. Not in this second. Not until he’s finished chasing his arguments in this essay.

[gardenofbookworms]

week #8 recommendation: bee

Rewind by Catherine Ryan Howard

▪ thriller/suspense/murder mystery novel ▪

the kerr couple moves into the belleview house. just over a week later, the wife is found dead on the beach in a miserable little town hours away. the reason? well, it’s simple—the water tank was shitty.

natalie o’connor, instagram star, leaves her house on a november morning and does not return. in between these events, she catches a bus to shanamore to investigate a lead on her husband and diminish her paranoia. the manager of shanamore cottages (and owner of the camera that captured natalie’s murder, initially intended for a different sort of “graphic”) is andrew gallagher, shrouded in a “black oil” and who harbors a secret that no one must ever find out—and of course, someone already has. days before naatalie’s body is found, a windswept reporter looking to advance a level at her job speaks with mike, the concerned husband, and follows in natalie’s tracks to shanamore. they lead her to local pervert richard flynn, who confronts her with a ridiculous proposal that may be more important than she thinks.

▪

let me be completely honest—i read this book mostly when i was in the wrong headspace for it, and so i can’t give it the credit it truly deserves. past that, holy shit. 90% of the book progresses without anyone getting closer to figuring out the murderer, and that is excruciating in all the best ways. everyone’s backstories make you suspect all the wrong people…the switch between timelines threw me off too. every time a section left on a cliffhanger, i flipped two pages to meet the continuation of a different setting. the exploration of natalie’s paranoia, andrew’s obedience, and the likeness of the mastermind behind all of it all add up to one of the best suspense novels i’ve ever read.

[strugglewithlonging]

How Staging Compliments The Narrative

One of the thing I really enjoyed while reading Berserk was Miura's attention to staging. Every character interaction he draws is so purposeful and layered with so much meaning, which of course means it's the kind of shit that keeps me up at night thinking about it.

Really I could start anywhere with this, but I chose to start here because it's something I only noticed after my second read through of GA and it just blew my socks off. Image heavy, I swear and interrupt myself a lot. I'm having a good time xD

I love how this sequence is staged. Griffith never stands up. From the moment Guts enters the room Griffith is in a potential position of power, but he doesn't assert it. Even while surrounded by all the knowledge Griffith holds being displayed through the books along the walls and his mention of "light reading".

I love how Guts is just splitting the bubble with his fat head here, letting us know how ridiculous he finds all this nonsense to be. He's bringing Griffith down to earth here in his mind. This is the dirty work to him, all the time Griffith spends up here educating himself with culture.  And asserting his opinion here in the middle of Griffith talking is what adds to his metaphorical higher ground. 

It's just so humbling to see, tbh. Griffith allowing Guts all the power in this situation despite their respective roles as soldiers, because it's not about that here. He invited Guts over to a familiar place, he made an effort to make Guts feel comfortable sitting with him (giving him something to engage with). They're hanging out. They're vibing. (Guts comments about how there's more books than the last time, indicating he's been in similar situation with Griffith before, very nice inclusion Miura.)

For a minute they're on the same level. Griffith hands him the kama sutra, invites Guts to read it, and Guts does! He sits his happy ass right down to engage in some activity mirroring with his best boy, easy. It cute! It's representative of how their dynamic could be off the battlefield, just mutual engagement.

But the second Griffith makes his request Guts has the upper hand again.

Guts stands up, he crosses the distance between them easily, getting back into Griffith's space.

And when Griffith gets to the point, that he wants someone killed? There's no grandstanding, there's no epic speech or proclamation. He keeps his ass in his chair and his body language open and let's Guts come to him. And it's so obvious that Guts is taking this request seriously, look at all those thoughtful speech bubbles. Griffith makes a point to detail everything for Guts, offering him more power. He didn't have to go over the how's and why's for Guts here, he didn't have to describe what the hell an assassination was. But he did in order for Guts to make an informed decision. And Guts is processing each of these points Griffith is willingly handing over in a moment of vulnerability.  

"I still haven't talked about this with anyone." 

Ultimately, the decision is up to Guts. It's an olive branch.

What Griffith is saying here is: Participate in this with me. Let's do this together. You're the only one I can trust with this.

It's an honest to goodness collaboration. Griffith does the research, he hires the goons, and Guts makes the kill. 

And like, whether Guts realizes this is happening is definitely tricky. My read is that he understands it intrinsically, at least. That boy be feeling their connection in some kinda way damn near every chapter, even if it's only on an instinctual level. He doesn't get the nuance Griffith is affecting here (does he ever? He hates The Royal Game and shits on it constantly lmfao) but whether it's a request or an order Guts is doing it because he dedicated himself to this man. He wants to.

And just, holy shit does this enforce Guts overall narrative in GA about belonging and family and carving a place for himself. About bonds. It's Guts' bond with Griffith that allows Guts (and the entire band, but this isn't about them rn) to reach places they never thought they could reach. And for Guts that's a place where he is understood, respected, encouraged, and loved. A place Griffith made for Guts at his side.

Anyway the empowered Guts continues!

In this position not only is he higher on the stage than his target…

But also, satisfyingly, he's reached a position above Griffith through their collaboration. This is literally the next chapter. We go from Guts standing over Griffith in the office to Guts standing over everyone within the vicinity of the Brother of the King. Guts is so damn elevated here. My man Griffith's effect is just that strong.

Miura's staging is just that strong. 

Eventually I want to get into how this flows expertly into the Promrose Hall Speech, but that's where things take a dark turn and I want to focus on the positive impact Griffith has on Guts for a bit.

I just love their dynamic, it's so fucking sweet man.

[xiaq]

Hi, I have a question re:sex and Christianity. Small background: I still go to church, and I still live with my parents even though I'm not much younger than you, because housing is very very expensive where I live (pretty common here, I would say about 2/3 of my friends live with their parents and we are decently privileged kids)

Anyway. How does one get over purity culture? To be clear, I've never been told in church not to have sex, I've never gotten the gendered lessons that you got. But I am terrified of having sex. My first real, multi-year relationship just ended and while there was hand stuff etc, there was never any p in v sex (lol I feel 12). But I still had insane anxiety about being pregnant despite being on bc. And I think its because I know my parents would be so disappointed if I had sex. And if I was pregnant I could imagine all the gossip. And honestly I think im from a pretty open church, b/c one of our previous ministers kids recently got married at 8 months pregnant and lots of church people were at the wedding and supportive and her parents were there and everything.

I dont even think I particularly like sex, i might be on the ace spectrum, but how do I remove it from all the anxiety that's tied to it so I can even give myself the chance to find out???

(Asking because it seems like you've been pretty open about purity culture/removing yourself from it)

CW for sex talk (again)

How does one get over purity culture?

Oh man. That really is the million-dollar question, huh? Obviously, I can only answer re my personal experiences, and this is something you should talk to a therapist about, but I can tell you how I’ve tackled it with my therapist at least.

Purity culture is, at its core, an ideology that is perpetuated by shame. If you’re indoctrinated into purity culture when you’re a kid, the concepts become baked into the way you construct your identity, your perception of self, and your perception of your sexuality. It’s practically intrinsic, by the time you’re an adult, to feel shame any time you’re reminded you have a body, much less a sexuality.

According to the chapels I sat through every week as a kid, a girl's body could be 3 things: an intentional stumbling block for men, an accidental stumbling block for men, or unnoticeable. Women were to strive for the third option so as to keep their (and their male friends/authority figures) purity intact. After all, if a boy, or even your male teacher, had impure thoughts about you, it was your fault for tempting them (which, holy shit. I still can’t believe that was a thing I bought into for so long. If my 45 yr old grown-ass teacher had impure thoughts because he could see my 12 yr old collarbone, that sure as hell wasn’t my fault. But I digress.) The Only time a woman’s body can be something else, is when she gives it to her husband, at which point she must suddenly flip the switch in her brain that she is now allowed to be a Sexual Being and she must perform Sexual Duties despite living in outright fear of her own body and sexuality for years (decades?) up until this point. Jesus take the wheel.

Purity culture isn’t a thing you can just decide to walk away from if you’ve grown up in it. Because its ideology is insidious and internalized. So first you need to submit to the fact that you’re going to be fucked up about sex. It sounds like you’re there. Second, you need to interrogate what you believe. If you’re leaving religion behind entirely, you’ll approach removing yourself from purity culture differently than if you still identify as a Christian. It sounds like you might be the latter, which meant, for me, separating what’s actually biblical and what’s shitty, contrived, doctrine that I was told is biblical but is actually more political than spiritual. This helps you address the shame issue.

You need to throw away I Kissed Dating Goodbye and Lady in Waiting and all those ridiculous books you read and reread in the hopes of somehow obtaining impossible marriage perfection and look into actual scripture interpreted within its historical context. I could write a book on this, but the TL;DR is that the text of the Bible was written, translated, curated, and changed multiple times over thousands of years by human beings with human biases and, often, personal and/or political agendas. It contradicts itself! Reading it as it is—a flawed historical document—rather than some sort of God-breathed perfect document—is incredibly freeing. When you do, you’ll probably realize that purity culture is bullshit on a spiritual level. Which is a good start, if that matters to you. Because any time you start to feel shame or guilt you can ask yourself: does God actually care if I wear a bikini or touch a dick I’m not married to? Probably not. Wear the bikini. Touch the dick.

The most important therapy session for me was when my therapist asked what I would do if I got to heaven and God was actually the God I’d been raised to fear. What would I do if he condemned me for being bisexual and having premarital sex and becoming educated, for arguing with men, and failing to isolate while menstruating, and wearing mixed fabrics? If Montero had come out at the point, I probably would have said I’d pole dance down to hell. Instead, I said I would spit on heaven’s gates. If a god that cruel and that pointlessly demeaning really exists—a god who would create in me condemned desire—I won't worship him. The good news is, I’m 99% sure he doesn’t exist. At the very least, he isn’t supported by scripture.

Okay. The final thing you need to do is figure out what you actually want, sexually speaking. This bit is probably the hardest. I’m still in the early stages of this myself. You say: “I dont even think I particularly like sex, i might be on the ace spectrum, but how do I remove it from all the anxiety that's tied to it so I can even give myself the chance to find out???” Bro, I wish I had an easy answer for you. For me, whenever I’m feeling anxious about Sex Things, I tell myself: 1. My God does not equate my worth to my sexual habits. 2. My partner does not equate my worth to my sexual habits. 3. I do not equate my worth to my sexual habits. It seems silly, but reminding myself of those three things is massively helpful. If, after I’ve sorted through those, I’m still anxious or uncomfortable, I stop doing the thing. I evaluate. Am I overwhelmed and I need to try again some other time? Do I just not like the thing? Sometimes it’s hard to tell. Sometimes you change your mind. Sometimes you just don’t know. That’s why having a partner who you trust and who’s willing to patiently explore your interests (and respect your disinterests) is so important. Half the battle, for me, was having a partner who told me they’d be ok with no sex at all. Because that took the pressure off me. If the bare minimum they need is nothing, then anything more than that is a bonus! Hooray! This is maybe TMI, but let me tell you. I thought I was asexual* right up until I was able to have moderately non-anxious sex. Never in my life did I think I would initiate a sexual situation but… I do now. It’s a fun thing to do with a person I love and, holy shit. I am furious that I nearly missed out on it.

Finally, re birth control: I don’t know how you can approach that fear in a way that works for you. If you don’t want to ever have penetrative sex, that’s fine! If that’s a point of anxiety you can’t get rid of, then don't push yourself to do it. If you find out you like other sex things, do the other sex things! If you don't like doing any sex things, don't do any sex things! Also, have you considered sleeping with people who can’t get you pregnant? Always an option if it’s an option you want to consider. ;)

Okay. I hope this was even a little bit helpful. Sorry if it’s a little convoluted, I typed it up in bursts during my work breaks.

*This is not at all to say that asexuality can be “fixed." Rather, it’s to say that things like purity culture can drastically confuse your sexuality in general. If you’re asexual, then this process is still important to discover what you like/dislike. Then you can be explicit about those necesities and find a partner who’s a good fit (if you want a partner at all, that is).

[onecanonlife]

Wilbur has never had wings. He has long since resigned himself to that fact. However much of his father's blood runs through his veins, it is not enough to grant him that gift.

Wilbur comes back to life, and his back begins to ache.

(word count: 6,141)

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

It’s stupid, but when his back first begins to ache, he assumes it’s old age.

The thing is that he doesn’t have any real frame of reference for what constitutes as old and what does not. His father is old, but his father has lived for literally thousands of years. Technoblade is not quite so old as that, but Technoblade never dies is more than just a catchphrase. Tommy is young, he’s sure of that much, but Tommy has days where he wakes up and his head and ribs won’t stop aching, remnants of that third death that have never quite left him, so Tommy is perhaps not the best gauge of what pains are and are not normal for a young person.

Wilbur doesn’t think that he’s particularly old. He’s still not yet thirty, unless he counts the void years. Then, he’s older than thirty. Then, he’s older than his own bones. He tries not to dwell on the void years, because dwelling on the void years gives him urges that he’s still learning how to ignore. Urges like informing everyone gaily and at length when the inevitable heat death of the universe will be, or giving everyone a graphic description of what happens at a microscopic level in the human body when it picks up a stomach bug.

The point is, he’s not very old. But he feels it, a lot of the time, so when he wakes up one morning and his back is killing him, he shrugs it off and goes about his day. It hurts, sure. It hurts kind of a lot. But he’s had worse. The void took him apart molecule by molecule and put him back together again so many times that he learned to love it, and compared to that, this is nothing at all.

Life in the Arctic has been—nice. It’s been nice, reconnecting with Phil, cautiously rebuilding his relationship with Technoblade. Tommy comes to visit a lot, and it’s odd, trying to juggle the kid he thinks of as a brother with his father and his father’s best friend, especially when there’s so much bad blood between the lot of them, but they make it work. And Ranboo is around a lot, and he’s a nice kid, and Niki stops by every so often, and it’s good to see her. No one else is very interested in coming to visit him, which is understandable, but she always smiles at him, and he knows that they’re still friends. Which is good.

He’s fairly sure that the four of them, Phil and Techno and Niki and Ranboo, have some sort of secret club thing going on. They always give him different answers when he asks about it; Niki blinks and tells him it’s a book club, and Ranboo does not blink because he does not have eyelids, but Ranboo claims that it’s a pet grooming society. So they’re lying to him for sure, and he thinks he could know the truth if he wanted to, if he tapped in just a bit more to those bits of void that have nestled in his heart. The temptation is strong, sometimes, but he resists.

He doesn’t want to mess with a good thing, is all. He’s found a peace here in the snow that he didn’t think he would be able to find outside of the grave. He is hesitant to call himself healing, but most days, when his head cries out for blood and fire and burning the world and himself along with it, he can push the idea away and carry on without trying to act on it. That is healing, perhaps.

Captain Puffy tells him it is, anyway, and he’s found that Captain Puffy tends to know what she’s talking about.

But so. His back hurts. And he expects it to stop after a while, because even old person aches surely can’t last forever. Except, it doesn’t, and in fact seems to only get worse over the next few days, to the point that he starts to worry that it’s going to begin interfering with his functionality. Which he doesn’t want. He needs freedom, freedom to go where he wants, even if where he wants to go usually isn’t very far. It’s the principle of the thing. He does not do well with confinement, with spaces that are too enclosed, and if this pain ends up laying him out in his room, he’s going to go insane.

Poor choice of words, that. But the point still stands, so he makes a decision. The decision is this: he’s simply not going to allow that to happen.

So he slaps a smile on his face and carries on with his business, and does his best to ignore the way his spine starts to feel like it’s cracking open and stabbing into the surrounding muscle. And he is a very good actor, if he does say so himself, so for the most part, no one seems to notice that anything is wrong. Phil asks him if he’s feeling alright, but he’s able to deflect by claiming fatigue, and Phil accepts the explanation easily. And the pain only increases, does not let up at all, but it’s a gradual sort of increase, so before too long, he figures out how to adjust to it. It’s fine. He’ll be fine.

And then Tommy stops by for a visit, and they’re chatting outside for a moment, and Tommy says something stupid and ridiculous, so he smacks him gently upside the head, which Tommy takes objection to. And then they’re wrestling, which makes the pain flare a bit, but it’s manageable, especially since he gets Tommy pinned in about four seconds flat, which. Is concerning, a bit, because he is not particularly strong, physically, so if he can pin Tommy, there are a lot of other people who could also definitely pin Tommy.

But he’s probably not thinking about it the right way. This was a play fight, not a real one, and it’s difficult, sometimes, to remember that the server is currently at peace.

He pins Tommy, both of them panting and grinning in the snow, and he doesn’t let up until Tommy admits defeat. And then he gets to his feet, and here is where he makes the error: he turns his back.

The snowball impacts him right between his shoulder blades. He stumbles forward with the force of it, and his knees hit the snow.

Tommy is already cackling, is calling him a bitch. Wilbur barely has time to think oh, shit before something spasms, and it’s like something has taken a knife to him from the inside out. He hears a strangled little scream, choked and agonized, and barely recognizes the fact that it’s coming from him, because black spots are dancing across his vision and his lungs aren’t inflating properly and he can hardly think.

“Oh, come on,” Tommy says, a wide smile still in his voice. “Don’t be such a pussy. I didn’t even pack any ice in.”

He can’t reply. The agony is centered where the snowball hit, but it’s radiating outward, and the whole of his back feels like it’s burning and freezing all at once, and he shudders violently, breaths coming in short, quick gasps. He clenches his fists, braces them against his thighs, pressing down hard enough to leave bruises.

“Wilbur?” Tommy asks, more uncertain. And then, Tommy is there, kneeling down in front of him, and his face goes all wide and panicky. “Wilbur? Holy shit, are you dying? Are you having a heart attack? A stroke? Are you freezing to death? Have I just killed you with a snowball? You’ve got three lives again, right? Where are you hurt, Wil, come one, you’ve got to tell me, you’ve gotta tell me so I can fix it, are you—”

“My back,” he manages, “my back’s been—my back’s been hurting, it wasn’t your fault, it’s just—” He cuts off with another gasp as all the muscles in his back convulse, tensing and untensing and tensing again and sending a wave of stabbing pain through his nerves.

“Oh, Prime,” Tommy says, “oh, Prime, alright, you’re gonna be fine, big man, let’s just get you inside, alright? Can you walk? Nevermind, just—” Tommy hooks his hands underneath his arms and hauls him to his feet, slinging one of his arms across his shoulders as soon as he can get them in the right position. He lets out a little whimper, and hates himself for doing so, just a little bit, but fuck, that hurts.

The stairs are a trial. His feet drag, and he would trip and fall flat on his face if it weren’t for Tommy. But then, they’re inside Phil’s house, and Tommy sits him down on Phil’s ratty little couch, and he immediately curls in on himself, hands gripping his forearms as if the pain will go away if he hugs himself hard enough.

“Okay, shirt off, Wil, let me see,” Tommy says, and he blinks dumbly for a moment.

“What?” he asks, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.

“No, just—you’ve got to let me see what’s wrong, yeah?”

“‘S old man aches,” he mumbles, but doesn’t try to fight it when Tommy begins manhandling his arms, pushing at his coat sleeves.

“What the fuck are you on about?” Tommy demands. “You’re not that old. Who do you think you are, Philza fucking Minecraft? Come on, just let me see—” He finally manages to get the coat off, and then the shirt, and his skin erupts in gooseflesh as it’s exposed to the air. Tommy freezes.

“What?” he asks. “What is it, what’s—”

“I don’t,” Tommy says, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t, Wilbur, I don’t know what this is, I don’t—holy shit, that’s actually kind of scary. Um! No, nevermind, don’t pay attention to me, just keep um, breathing! Breathing is good! Breathing exercises!” He breathes in and out, loud and exaggerated. “See, just like that. I’m just gonna—”

And he puts a hand out, and before Wilbur can stop him, he rests it on his back. Light and cautious, but still too much, and Wilbur stuffs a fist into his mouth to stop himself from screaming. In the same motion, he flinches away, violently, but the damage has already been done. Because the contact hurts, a lot, but what’s worse is the horror, because in the split second that Tommy’s hand touched his skin, he could feel the way that it is wrong, that his back is wrong, that there is something terribly wrong. Because there are ridges protruding from his back, long and thick and raised, and it’s wrong and it hurts and Tommy’s right, actually, this is scary, he’s fucking scared.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Tommy is saying, “I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I won’t do that again, I’m so sorry, Wilbur, are you okay? Please be okay, please—”

He nods, though it’s more like he lets his head fall and then painstakingly brings it back up a little.

“Okay, I think we need—” Tommy says. “I think that I don’t know what to do, so I think we need—” He takes a deep breath. “Phil! Phil!” Loud, panicked, earsplitting. Wilbur winces. “Phil! He is home, isn’t he? Phil!”

A second passes, and then, drifting up from the basement, a distant, “Tommy? Everything good?”

“Phil, get up here right fucking now!”

There is a beat of silence, and then there are footsteps, quiet at first but growing closer, and they are quick, hurried. Phil must have detected the genuine fear in Tommy’s voice, because Tommy and Phil generally stand on very shaky ground with each other, so while Phil will typically indulge Tommy in his whims, it depends on the day as to how far he’ll go, how quick he’ll respond. But it’s only a moment or two before Phil’s head pokes out of the floor, his hands clinging to the ladder, his face twisted in confusion.

“What on earth is the matter?” he asks, and then breaks off as his eyes land on Wilbur, who—he must be a sight. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. But terror flashes across Phil’s face, and he is crossing the floor in an instant, hands hovering over him, fluttering helplessly, though thankfully, he doesn’t touch.

“What’s wrong, where are you hurt, what—” The words come out in a jumbled flurry, but he stops just as abruptly, and Wilbur knows that he is looking at the horror show that is his back.

“It hurts, Phil,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Phil says, sounding—still concerned, but perhaps marginally calmer? “Okay, you’re going to be alright. I think I know what this is.” He settles himself on the couch right next to him and opens his arms, and Wilbur doesn’t hesitate before leaning forward, slumping against him. Phil seems to know better than to put any kind of pressure on his back, and instead places one hand on his arm and the other on the back of his head, threading his fingers through his hair.

“Then what the fuck is it?” Tommy demands.

“Tommy, I need you to run over to Techno’s and ask him for something for pain, and something for sleep. Can you do that for me?” Phil asks instead of answering, and perhaps Wilbur should be terrified by the implication that he’s going to need either of those things, but the promise of some kind of relief overrides any kind of trepidation.

“Like fuck I will,” Tommy says, “Not before you tell me what the fuck is wrong with him!”

Another convulsion wracks him. He bites his lip to keep from crying out, and tastes blood. His breath is hitching, and he can’t stop it.

“Tommy.” Phil’s voice is sharp, but then, Wilbur feels rather than hears him sigh. “It’s wings, I think. I don’t understand why now, but I went through this a long time ago, when I was very young. I recognize the signs. So Tommy, please.”

Tommy makes a surprised little sound. Wilbur isn’t looking, has his face buried in Phil’s shoulder, but he can imagine the look on his face: the slack jaw, the wide open eyes. And then, there are rushed footsteps retreating, and the door slamming, and Tommy’s muffled voice calling out for Technoblade.

And then, Wilbur processes what Phil just said.

He twists his head around so he can see his face, regretting it a moment later. Any kind of movement seems to make the pain worse, and he has to take a moment to tremble through it.

“Wings?” he whispers. “How?”

He’s never had wings.

If he were going to have wings, he would have gotten them a long time ago. He remembers nights spent as a child, staying up and hoping for feathered appendages to somehow miraculously appear on his back, just so he could be more like his dad. He remembers the crushing disappointment when he finally accepted that no matter how much divine blood runs in his veins, it is apparently not enough.

But he did accept it. He accepted it years ago. There is absolutely no reason for him to be developing wings now, as a fully-grown adult, but Phil sounds so very sure, and his back hurts so very much, and perhaps that’s consistent with actual appendages trying to sprout out of him.

“I don’t know,” Phil says. “I’ve never heard of it happening so late, even in avians. Which, I’m not exactly, but I got mine when I was a kid like they do, and I don’t—I don’t know, Wil, I really don’t, but I remember what it was like, yeah? I know what to do. It’s gonna suck for a little while, but you’re going to be fine, I promise.”

“Okay,” he croaks, “okay—” and then he has to stop talking, because the pain flares again, bright and intense and holy shit, but it’s worse this time, because now that he knows what’s going on, he can feel them. He can feel things inside of him, pushing against his muscles and his skin in ways that absolutely should not be possible, and there is too much of him to be contained in his body, and there are things inside of him trying to escape—

It’s almost like the way he gets when he thinks about the void too hard. Except not, because when he does that, he feels the urge to dissolve away, gently and peacefully, to let himself back into the quiet that is not quiet and the darkness that is not dark, where all the knowledge of the world is at his fingertips, too much for a mortal brain to contain and remain sane. That is not this. This is his own body trying to explode. There is no peace, no dissolution; it’s messy and physical and Prime he just wants it to stop.

He shifts in Phil’s grasp, fruitlessly trying to find a position that takes the pressure off, a little bit. It’s no use, of course, because he can still feel something moving under the skin of his back, and his vision whites out, and when he comes back to himself, he’s shivering, shivering and shaking and sobbing in Phil’s hold, and he doesn’t remember when he started crying but he can’t seem to make himself stop. Phil is keeping up a steady stream of soothing nonsense, and he latches onto the sound of his voice like it’s the only lifeline he has.

And then the door bursts open, and Wilbur doesn’t bother trying to look, but there are two sets of footsteps, not just one.

“Here,” Tommy says, panting, and there are several thumps, and several clinks, glass on glass.

“Oh god, don’t—and he’s doing it, he’s just dumping all of that on the floor. Don’t break those, Tommy, those aren’t splash pots. Have you never handled a potion before.” Technoblade pauses for a moment. “So, what exactly’s wrong with him? The child was making no sense at all.”

Wilbur thinks he detects a note of concern. But he’s not thinking clearly, and it’s always hard to tell anyway, with Technoblade.

“He’s got wings growing in,” Phil responds, voice clipped. Wilbur feels his hand leave his arm, and he whines at the loss of touch. And then another spasm, and he whines again, pressing his face harder into Phil’s shirt.

“Oh. Huh. Yes, that makes perfect sense, of course.”

Phil’s arm dips a bit, and Wilbur finds himself being moved, his head gently tilted back. Phil’s face comes into view, pale and blurry.

“You want to drink this for me, Wil?” he says, and then there is glass at his lips, and he parts them immediately. He doesn’t like being knocked out, doesn’t like the loss of control that comes with it, but if he has to be aware for another five minutes, he’s not going to be able to keep himself from screaming aloud.

He swallows, grimacing at the taste. The effects start hitting right away. His mind detaches from himself, and the pain drains from him. Every muscle goes lax.

He exhales.

“There we go,” Phil murmurs, “there we go. It’s gonna be alright, Wil. I’ll be here the whole time. You’re gonna be okay.”

The world falls away. He lets it. He trusts his father to catch him.

----------

He wakes up a few times, and each time, it hurts. Phil is always there, and usually, Tommy too, and sometimes Techno, and he can barely move but they always see that he’s awake, and they give him a potion and he’s under again, and he’s glad for it, because those moments of consciousness are a spiral of pain and confusion and his thoughts flying apart because he barely understands what’s going on or why he’s hurting and he just wants it to go away.

And then there is the time he wakes up and he thinks somebody is cutting his back open, and he can feel his own blood on his skin, sticky and hot, and he thrashes, trying to get away, and that makes the pain so much worse, and the sound that comes out of his mouth is inhuman, and he fights until a potion is poured down his throat and it’s back to sleep again.

And then there is the time he wakes up, and people are talking in low, hushed tones. He can’t make out what they’re saying. He cracks his eyes open, and it’s Phil and Technoblade, deep in some discussion, both looking terribly concerned. He decides he’ll ask what’s wrong later, and then closes his eyes and goes back to sleep again.

And then there is the time he wakes up, and some part of him is moving, and he doesn’t understand what it is because it’s not any of his limbs, not his arms and not his legs, and it feels alien and foreign and his back feels like it’s been shoved under a woodchipper and then tossed through a paper shredder for good measure, and he’s not aware enough to know why, so he panics. There is a bit of the void that still dwells in his heart, and he calls on it, cries out to it, and it answers, comes rushing in around him, and his mind expands to peer into galaxies.

Philza is at his side a moment later, and he is able to look at him and see all the weight of years that lie behind his eyes, and all the years that lie ahead of him, and the moment of his death, all spiraling out like a tapestry and like a mass, and the music is atonal, confused, but a closer glance reveals it to be twelve-tone, order in the chaotic lines. Wilbur is with the void again, and his heart still beats, but it’s a near thing, and he could stop it if he chose.

“Do you want to know, Philza?” he asks, words spilling from his lips like rain, like the river, like the flood. “Do you want to know when it will happen? I can see it. I can see how some part of you wants it. All our histories are like tangled up threads, but they all come to an end, and I can see those endings, Philza, I can tell you about them if you like.”

Pain constricts Philza’s face, and Wilbur doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know who wouldn’t love the void and its peace and its everything.

“I know, Wilbur,” Philza says, “I know, but how about you come back to me now, okay? Come back to me?”

“We’re all little bits of code, Philza,” he informs him. “None of us are real. We’re little bits of code and words on a page and lines in a script written by our better selves. Nothing in this world really matters. We might as well have all the fun we can before the lights go out. Do you want to know when that will be, Philza? Not too long after you, Philza. Not too long at all. I told Tommy, he knows, he didn’t want to know but that’s alright, he’s better off for it, if he hasn’t forgotten.”

“Come back, Wil, come on,” Philza says, “you can do it. You’ve got a heartbeat, do you feel it?”

Philza takes his hand and places it over his heart, and—that’s right. He’s alive. He’d forgotten. The void spins, and then it tucks itself away again, waiting for the next moment he needs it, and he is left with only vague impressions of what he’s just said and a vague idea that everything hurts and something is wrong with his back and he’d like to go to sleep now, please.

“Alright, yeah,” Phil says, “here, you can have this, you can sleep. You’re doing so well, Wil, I promise it’s almost done.”

He takes the potion. Or tries to; Phil has to hold it for him.

“Okay,” he says faintly. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he hears Phil say, very far away. “So long as you come back, everything’s okay.”

He goes back to sleep again. He thinks he wakes up a few more times, but he doesn’t really remember. He doesn’t really want to.

----------

And then: awareness.

The first thing he processes is that everything aches, deeply and acutely, but none of it feels nearly as bad as it did before, and not even as bad as it’s been over the past couple of weeks. It’s irritating, painful, but more than manageable, really, practically a relief. The second thing he processes is that he’s lying on his stomach, and that there is something weighing him down.

His mind puzzles over this for a moment. He tries to roll over, to see what’s going on, but something stops him, and then he remembers: wings.

He’s got wings. There are wings on his back. Growing out of him. A part of his body. Wings.

As soon as he realizes that, he becomes aware of them. And it is so very strange, to suddenly have access to two extra limbs, to suddenly have additional body parts to move about and control. It’s a feeling impossible to describe, and he has to take several minutes to process it, to try to become accustomed to it. It doesn’t really work, but he tries moving them anyway, just a bit of a flex, and—

Ouch.

He groans, shoving his face into the pillow. A mistake. That was a mistake. He’d rather like to go back to sleep now and pretend that none of this is happening.

But his vocalization draws attention, and then there is a hand on his shoulder, gently brushing him just enough to feel, not enough to pain him. He turns his head to the side, reluctantly, and Phil is kneeling beside him, his face open and soft and clearly relieved, his lips curling into a slight smile.

“Hey,” he says. “How you feeling, Wil?”

He considers this, and decides on honesty. “Bit like I’ve been caught between a piston and a wall for the past couple of days,” he admits. “Better than before, though.”

“Good to hear,” Phil says, and then his face goes a bit more serious. “How much of that do you remember?”

“Not much?” he says. “I don’t think? Impressions, I guess. I know I wasn’t having a good time. I’m glad I don’t remember it too clearly. I was out for most of it, yeah?”

“Most of it,” Phil agrees, and Wilbur thinks that perhaps there is something he’s not saying, but he doesn’t feel like pressing the matter. He can guess what it is, anyway; there is a chill in his chest, and his thoughts feel just slightly more fractured than usual, so it’s not hard to assume what might have happened. Not hard to assume where he might have gone. He’s sure he’ll feel terrible about it when everything stops feeling so surreal.

He has wings.

“It’s over now?” he asks, and winces at the way his voice cracks. “It’s done?”

Phil’s eyes do the thing where they go immeasurably soft and crinkly at the edges, and it’s love and relief and sadness all at once. “It’s done,” he agrees, and then hesitates. “You’re not gonna be able to fly on them for a while, but would you like to see?”

He doesn’t understand why Phil is being so cautious about it. Of course he wants to see. If he’s going to be put through hell, he wants to see what came of it. He wants it to be worth it.

“Usually, when wings grow in, they’re all downy and shit. Like a baby bird,” Phil says, probably in response to whatever face he’s sure he’s making. “Flight feathers come in over the next few weeks.” He pauses again, and Wilbur thinks he understands his reticence, now, understands the still-present concern.

“But that’s not what happened with mine,” he states, and Phil shakes his head.

“Yours are fully fledged,” he says. “Probably part of why it hurt so much. I don’t know why, Wil. But do you wanna have a look?”

Wordless, he nods, and Phil takes that as his cue to reach out and help him sit upright. It’s far more effort than it should be, compounded by the fact that his sense of balance feels all wrong, and that’s going to take some getting used to, he can already tell. And he’s sore, like he’s run a marathon or fought another half dozen wars all in one go, and his head spins a little bit when he finally situates himself. He closes his eyes against it, breathing in sharply.

He feels Phil guiding his wings forward, into his field of vision. He opens his eyes.

They are very big, is the first thing he notices. They would have to be, of course, to hold his weight up. Magic and suspension of disbelief only stretches so far. They are very large, and the feathers are very large, and they are very angular and neat as well, so neat that someone has to have arranged them while he was unconscious, because there’s no way that they came out looking like that.

The color, though. The color. He swallows, hard.

They are black, perhaps. They look black. But he knows on an instinctive level that they are black in the same way that the void is black, and that if someone were to stare at them for too long, they would realize as much, would realize that actually, they are not black at all, but rather some color or some lack of color that is beyond human comprehension. The void translates as black to the human mind because it is as close as the human mind can get to true perception, and most of the time, Wilbur remembers it as black, but it was not, and his wings are not, and he is never going to be free of it, is he?

On some level, he knew that. Knew that the void is in him and about him, and no matter what he does, it will never leave him completely, not after all the years he spent with it, intertwined with the infinite nothing. But now he has wings on his back, and they should be a connection between him and Phil, should be something to celebrate, but he stares at the plumage and feels sick to his stomach.

“Wil?” Phil asks. He sounds confused, sounds worried by his reaction. “You okay, mate?”

He’s not sure how to phrase this in a way that Phil will understand. Not sure that he wants to.

“Void,” he manages, voice a broken whisper. “They look like void, Phil.”

He looks up just in time to see Phil’s face crumple.

“Wil—”

“They look just like it, Phil,” he continues. “Just like it. And I know I’m not always good about, about being here, about keeping myself stable, but I’m trying. I try to ignore it when it calls, I try not to reach out to it, and when I fail, I, I try to come back, I do, I swear. I can’t—I can’t have these, Phil, they’re from it, that’s why I’m getting them now, maybe it triggered something, I don’t know, but I can’t, Phil, I can’t—”

He reaches out toward them, intending to do—something, maybe, and Phil must have a better idea than he does, because his hand darts out and snags his, stopping him in his tracks.

“No, Wil, don’t do that, okay? We can work on it, we’ll figure it out, but please don’t—”

“You’re up!”

He and Phil both freeze, and as one, look to the door. Tommy is standing there, grinning like nobody’s business, and Technoblade is lurking behind him, his face contorted into an expression that looks like he wants to murder someone but really just means he’s feeling very awkward.

Tommy glances back and forth between the two of him, and his face slowly falls.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. “Nothing—I mean, it all went right, didn’t it?”

He blinks. Tilts his head slightly. Gently removes his hand from Phil’s grasp, and then spreads out his wings behind him, putting them on full display, as far out as he can make them go, and it aches and he’s not going to be able to hold them there for long, but it’s worth it. He wants Tommy to see. Because Tommy will know. Tommy remembers. And unlike him, Tommy hates to remember. Tommy hates the void. So perhaps this is an act of self-sabotage. That’s what Captain Puffy would say. But he does it anyway, because he wants someone else to see and understand, understand in a way he knows Phil won’t be able to.

“I’ve got void wings, Tommy,” he says, and a smile splits his face. “See them?”

Tommy’s eyes widen, and he flinches.

Gratification is not nearly as sweet as he thought it would be. Actually, he just sort of feels like crying.

But then, Tommy’s brows draw together. And he steps further into the room, coming closer and closer until he’s standing right up against the bed, staring at the feathers. Wilbur holds himself very still.

“I see,” Tommy says slowly, “but Wilbur, I’m not sure you do.”

“What are you talking about?” he asks, and cranes his neck to try to see whatever Tommy’s looking at. For a moment, he doesn’t; there’s just the feathers, void feathers, death feathers, a reminder that—

But arctic sunlight slants through the window, and if he shifts his angle just a little bit—

The noise that escapes him is small and involuntary. He hopes no one calls him on it, but that’s the least of his concerns right now. Because the colors do not change, not exactly, but if he holds them to the light, the sun illuminates the feathers, haloing their edges in gold, and there is a sheen of color running across them, a sheen that ripples and moves as he shifts them in the sunbeam, and it is a beautiful, rich blue.

And they’re lovely.

“Oh,” he says, and Tommy laughs at him, the fucking gremlin.

“Yeah, fucking oh,” he says. “You’re such a moron. They’re so fucking ace, Wilbur.”

“I think that maybe you need to work on rememberin’,” Technoblade says from the doorway, “that you’re the sum of all your experiences, and not just one.”

Wilbur stares at him.

“Oh my god,” he finally says. “That’s so cheesy. Who the hell are you and what have you done with Technoblade?”

“Alright,” Techno grumbles, “see if I do anythin’ nice for you ever again. I didn’t come up here to receive this kind of treatment. This is an outrage.”

He laughs. He laughs, from the sheer relief of it, and his trepidation is melting away like snow in the sunshine, and he can allow himself to revel in it, to revel in the wings on his back, and he is sore and tired but this is what glory feels like, maybe, and perhaps he can fly into the air and there will be no wax to drip away.

Perhaps these wings are of the void, but they are of him, too.

And he looks to Phil again, and Phil is smiling at him, warm and happy. His own wings are flared out behind him, tattered at the edges, so many feathers torn or still missing entirely, and the more time that passes, the more and more likely it is that those feathers are never going to grow back, that Phil truly will never fly again. Phil has already resigned himself to it, he knows, but Wilbur has never given up hope, will never be able to bring himself to give up hope.

“It’s not fair that I can fly when you can’t,” he says quietly, and the room goes still and quiet. Especially when it’s my fault, he doesn’t say, though he knows everyone hears it.

“Wil,” Phil says, “nothing could bring me more joy than this.”

And Wilbur hears what he means: you, here.

So he flexes his wings and revels in the ache and revels in the sunshine and revels at his family, here, his father sitting by him and his friend-protege-brother poking at curiously at his feathers and Technoblade still in the doorway, not leaving even for all his grumbling. He revels in this, revels in this life, and for a time, the void recedes entirely.

And in its wake is the sunlight.

[due4amiracle]

Day 313

Ooops it’s been a while - oh well! GDQ consumed my soul so, ya know. Shrug! On to the list!

Listo:

Wash 2 plates/bowls/pieces of silverware, 2 chapters, Dailies, Vamp shiz, 2 anime eps.

Wash 2 plates/bowls/pieces of silverware - Nope🚫

2 chapters - The Starless Crown by James Rollins 100%, Among Thieves by M.J. Kuhn 100%, Gutter Mage by J.S. Kelley 0%. Uh, books! TSC: 2.5🌟 2.5 rounded to 3 for a book that had way too many not-Nyx PoV changes! Honestly, Nyx was the ONLY character i gave any fucks about and we kept switching away from her! Ridiculous. Goodness. AT: 2🌟 Uh, things just kinda *happened* without rhyme or reason and then it ended on a HUGE cliffhanger, none of the characters particularly liked each other, and... ???? what. Moving on to Gutter Mage by J.S. Kelley! UwU♡ ✔

Dailies - Waifu Did mah dailies! Also, level 13 BP now~! AND! Tree lvl 22! New MONTH! new weeklies! ♡ω♡. FFXIV did mah dailies~ MSQ +0 -> 74, BTN +0 -> 80, CUL +0 -> 80, WVR +0 -> 80, GSM +0 -> 77, FSH +0 -> 65, MIN +0 -> 74, ALC +0 -> 69, LTW +0 -> 64, ARM +0 -> 65, CRP +0 -> 64, BSM +0 -> 65. Vath 0/0 Rank 8/9 Bloodsworn, Vanu 1350/1730 Rank 7/9 Sworn, Moggles 0/1730 Rank 7/9 Sworn. No game today UwU♡ ✔✔

Vamp shiz - 0 words written! Up to 8672. 1349 words for pt6. Always the grind for the next part - but none this last time bit. However, i have been doing some sceneing! So that counts because i say so. ✔

2 anime eps - Mob Psycho 100 II! 1&2 done! ✔

Other things - Manhwa: Nothing here. In other news: Did my daily Cozy Grove and still loving it! Did not play Swag and Sorcery. No Unsleeping City 2. Whew GDQ consumed my soul for so long. What a fantastic thing, so many AMAZING runs, and also runs i missed that i need to go back and watch. Finished the “Get my Money” saga - finally went and got my id, after getting an appointment in the big city, only for it to get cancelled because of *waves at the world as it is* and then getting a new appointment in a different city, then going to walmart and getting the check cashed (which was a mini-saga in it’s own right, check wouldn’t go through and calls had to be made and yada yada it eventually went through, put money onto a prepaid paypal card we thought would let us put the money into the account, nope, did not work, but still let us send money back to people so a mostly-win!) and then grabbing food. Whew. Bought things and watched lots of GDQ and yea. Had an appointment somewhere in there, with the nurse of the therapy place, she asked me LOTS of questions and oh lawd i had so much anxiety about all of it and barfed lots of words, but in the end she... well, didn’t pass me off, per se, more “the psychologist will be MUCH more qualified to deal with your disaster of a mess of medications because holy shit you are on SO MANY MEDS wow holy hot damn.” so. Ya know. Other than all of that. Eating lots of good foods, drinking lots of good drinks, lots of liquids. Lots of pain, migraine and wrists and arthritis and yuck. Brain has been unkind too. Anxiety rampant and rapid spiraling up and down. Exhausted. So fucking exhausted all of the time. Holy shit. i wish i wasn’t so tired. Bleh. Get back on the rodeo horse now though. Let’s go.

Food: A Liquid: A Pain: D Brain: D

Tomorrow: Wash 2 plates/bowls/pieces of silverware, 2 chapters, Dailies, Vamp shiz, 2 anime eps.

Ever Onwards and Upwards!

[mp100fanworkstranslation]

Dangerous Romance - Doujinshi Sample

The top text says -SAMPLE- So this is a preview of a MUCH longer book.

Ekubo and Reigen stare up at an abandoned building. 

Ekubo: Are you sure this is the right place?

Ekubo: It’s so remote, we’re out in the middle of nowhere.

Ekubo Narrates: Reigen’s been indiscriminate about accepting jobs again. He’ll take any job without considering the danger or consequences.

Reigen: Yep. Address checks out. I’m sure this is the spot. 

Ekubo Narrates: Even if most of them have no supernatural elements involved, he’ll use the logic that this is helping people and putting their worries to rest to take the work, earning a modest living.

Ekubo thinks: This guy is way too dedicated for his own good.  A con artist that gives nothing less than his 110%

Reigen: Alright! Lets go.

Narrator: But this client brought with him, something dangerous.

Ekubo thinks: He... He cant see it? This is bad.

The client requested our help in locating his missing girlfriend. He had no idea that he himself was deeply cursed. 

Ekubo thinks: Reigen you idiot, stop talking, make him leave. You’re getting too close.

And right under my nose......

Ekubo thinks: I watched it transferred itself to Reigen.  Well.... shit

Ekubo: Reigen 

You sure you wanna go in there? 

Ekubo: I have a bad feeling about this place. I’d be best to get Shigeo to come with us, just to be safe. 

Reigen: We don’t have a choice. Mob has some club activities this week, and won’t be free until next week.

Ekubo: That curse is on attached to you right now, as we speak. Do you not value your life?

Reigen: Look we don’t have time for this. 

Reigen: And I’ve got you, right? Aren’t you a high level evil spirit? Isn’t this something you can handle with ease?

Ekubo: Of course I can! If you weren’t so careless, I wouldn’t feel the need to remind you! 

Reigen: Yeah, speaking of that, why don’t you find a stronger healthier host? 

Ekubo: Hey! You think suitable hosts are so easy to find? 

Reigen: Yeah... well, the whole thin, pale and frail thing worries me.

Ekubo: Thin, Pale and Frail?!? Look whose talking! Fuck You and the horse you rode in on.

Reigen: Are you so weak that you’re limited to possessing this one guy? 

Reigen: Whatever, I’ll pay you for coming along regardless.

Ekubo: What am I even supposed to do with money? 

Oof! -Reigen stops suddenly and he walks into him-

Ekubo: Huh? What’s going on?

Reigen: Look like you were right on the money. This place is dangerous. I can feel it. 

Ekubo: Oh? You feel it too right? The presence? Looks like some of Shigeo’s powers stayed with you after all. 

Reigen starts to sweat profusely while looking horrified.

Ekubo thinks: Wait... I’m not feeling it that strongly though. Isn’t he overreacting a bit?

Reigen: It’s too dangerous

Ekubo: Reigen? 

Reigen is looking around left and right

Reigen nervously enters the room, looking side to side. The silence is punctuated with skittering noises.

Reigen: There’s so many

Ekubo: ??

Reigen: We gotta keep moving, be careful and watch your step.

A cockroach crawls over his foot.

HOLY SPRAY (The actual text says Purification Spray)

This is one of Reigen’s special moves. With insecticide in each hand, he quickly sprays in wide arcs to the surrounding area. A deadly threat to all the insects in the immediate vicinity. 

The room quickly starts to fill with insecticide as Ekubo watches

Ekubo: ...........

-Screaming- -Clattering noises- Screaming-Running sounds-

Oof!

Ekubo: Rei..Reigen?

Reigen: SAVE ME!

Th....They’re everywhere, swarms and swarms of them. Too many to kill

Ekubo: ....um...

Reigen: And... and the bodies... they die but their legs keep twitching. Oh god....

Ekubo: Siiigh... you’re so much work.

Reigen: Wait, what are you doing?

Ekubo: Getting you through this part.

Reigen: Wait.... No... no that part has....

-skittering noises from insects-

Reigen: NOOOOOOOO

Ekubo: This is ridiculous, but if it’s only that area that’s the problem, we should be fine if we get past it.

Reigen: Wait wait... don’t go over there.

-Bugs are crawling all around them-

Reigen: AHHHHHH Th...THERE’S MORE. THEY’RE STILL ALIVE. THEY’RE COMING CLOSER!!

Ekubo: Stop grabbing me so tight. I cant breathe. L...LET GO.

-Reigen is breathing hard, Ekubo is laughing-

Reigen: Th...they could have killed me.

Ekubo: I thought seeing you cry would be funny, but all Im feeling is second hand embarrassment. 

Reigen: Shut up, I’m not crying

Reigen is still breathing hard. Ekubo is staring at his neck

Reigen: Eh? What are you doing? 

Ekubo: Collecting my protection fee.

Reigen: Unbelievable!

Tome: Wait what? Is that all? What happens after this? Sorry but this is a doujinshi sample. You can read the rest if you buy the book here: https://fanhouse.waca.ec/en/product/detail/125921 The book is 38 pages and costs $7 USD. Paypal accepted ships worldwide. Rated PG 

By Tamadango on Lofter

Translator’s note: I don’t have this book, so this is the only part I can translate. There won’t be any additional parts after this.