#either shit or almost completely inaccessible

[cultreslut]

im not behind im okay im not behind im okay i am simply living life at my own pace uhmmm killing myself

[drdemonprince]

doctor demon prince im in my 5th year of undergrad suffering from functional freeze and Cant Write Papers disease (subtype where i eventually write it 7 months later and its really good for how rushed it is). ive also been doing unmasking work and trying to make progress w my nervous system and my relationships, i still have a long way to go . im going to graduate eventually (who fucking knows when) but with a pretty shit gpa.

Anyway my question is why the fuck do i keep wanting to get a masters degree when i know this setting sucks real bad for me. i love 2 learn but either dont have a handle on my adhd/autistic workflow yet or simply dont have the combination of traits it takes to succeed in academia. and i have student loans. i probably wont be accepted to any masters programs anyway but i dont know what else to do !!!!!!!!!!! 🙃 seeing as this is the transgender autistic grad student website maybe u or some of ur followers have advice for me..... 🫶 ok thank u byeee

I'm sorry to have to say this, but why do you want to go to graduate school? It will drive you deeply into debt, cause you a huge amount of stress, subject you to a wildly inaccessible environment where student neurodivergences are often unfairly cast as signs of laziness and lack of academic potential, and, in a majority of fields, it doesn't lead to improved career prospects (typically, the equivalent amount of time spent working in your chosen profession will get you just as far, if not farther, than a graduate degree).

I don't recommend graduate school to almost anyone. Graduate school was a stigmatizing, exhausting, abusive, exploitative, traumatizing experience for me that left me profoundly socially isolated and physically sick, and trained me in an increasingly irrelevant and scientifically unsound field that basically does nothing but regurgitate neoliberal truisms back to the elites that already believe in them.

Some of the faults I've just listed don't apply to *every* academic field in the world -- but it does apply to most of them!

I think it's important for people to know that Master's degree programs are, by and large, created as a revenue source for universities. Undergraduate enrollment has hit a wall -- there's only so many more people who can go to college, in a world where college has become increasingly obligatory, college pays off professionally far less than it used to, and in times of low unemployment there's very little reason to go to school -- and so the possibility of growing undergraduate enrollment has become more and more thin. This means universities have been unable to turn growing profits for years. And that's what matters to them -- profits.

Left without the revenue source of more college students' tuitions, universities have turned toward courting repeat customers -- duping college graduates who are unhappy with their post-graduate career prospects by investing in even more school. In most Master's degree programs, there are very high fees, very limited financial aid, and very very limited mentorship (compared to, say PhD programs, where shepherding you through the program is at least an advisor's duty).

I've worked in higher ed administration for years now and I've seen how disposable Master's degree students are taken to be -- they're paying for a pricey credential and they get very little out of it, in the end -- in most programs, and most contexts. When we need to fill a budget gap, we create a new Master's program -- without regard for whether it is necessary, and without ever being able to prove it will aid our graduates in getting jobs, or even that the degree will fill a necessary niche.

You can feel free to write back to me if yours is a field where a master's degree is necessary or yields positive career outcomes for a great many people (social work and athletic training come to mind). But even still, I don't think you should subject yourself to a completely inaccessible environment that you are already struggling in and taking on more debt to do so. You deserve better than that. And 99% of graduate programs will not do right by you.

If you'd like to read more about just how exploitative graduate programs generally are, and why, I recommend Karen Kelsky's book The Professor is In, or her blog of the same name:

[voxaholic]

The Heaven Ending of @randomly--accessed--memories represented a few problems.

It left almost half the cast either inaccessible to Vox on account of either being perma-dead or still in Hell or just straight up not on speaking terms with him. If you count his daughter and therapist he has around four people in Heaven who he regularly interacts with. He probably thinks this is enough people to have in his life but me and the mod disagreed.

We agreed that an important part of Vox's recovery in the Heaven Ending would be making friends completely unrelated to his situation in Hell and we eventually realized that the most likely way for Vox to stumble into friendships would be via Heaven's incredibly small but still present hook-up culture. There's a small bar he frequents that's like about 70% ex-sinner and sort of an unofficial hub for ex-sinners still working through some shit.

It's one of those places where most people go by their sinner name. Vox makes himself pretty conspicuous by introducing himself as "Vaughn" because he's paranoid about anyone potentially recognizing him by his sinner name.

The first connection deeper than a one-night stand he makes at the bar ironically starts with a failed hook-up.

Vox was approached one night by a slender dragon-like sinner who introduced himself as Pyrite but Vox misheard it as "Pirate" which already kicked things off to an awkward start, but they were both a few drinks in and Vox was still in his "having enough sex will fix me" headspace and Pyrite was flirty, funny and a bit bratty but in a fun way so they did have chemistry.

After a bit of flirting they make it back to a hotel room and things are proceeding as expected until Pyrite just kind of casually pushes Vox back against the bed (intending to ride him) and that triggers an Alastor flashback. The next few moments are chaotic. Pyrite gets punched, clothes are put on in a hurry, Vox forgets his shoes when he stumbles out the door.

Vox avoids going back to the bar for A While but there really isn't another place in Heaven with a similar vibe/purpose, so he ends up back there eventually and Pyrite is waiting there with his shoes.

Vox feels like he's about to be pitied and wants to leave as soon as possible but Pyrite holds his shoes hostage until he hears him out. He essentially explains that he gets it and when Vox scoffs Pyrite elaborates that he was murdered by a serial killer who targeted men at bars. He was lured to a second location by a young woman and even though there was an active serial killer in the area and he knew that, he was drunk, stupid and full of hubris. Long story short, he got tortured to death and despite being bisexual, couldn't have sex with women for a while because he would have panic attacks before anything even happened.

So he like, is genuine about getting it. He doesn't know exactly what Vox went through but Vox said enough while having the Alastor flashback that he's able to guess it's something similar.

It's the start of a tentative friendship. Pyrite was kind of a rich douche in life. He died in his early twenties while taking pre-law. He's brash, crude, kind of full of himself and prone to oversharing but he's witty, non-judgmental and chill when it counts. He sort of adopts Vox (or Vaughn as he goes by at the bar) into his existing friendgroup.

[autisticpride]

once you start paying attention, it's really obvious how inaccessible places are

a while ago, i saw a post about public restrooms. i don't remember the post, nor everything in it, but since then i've been paying attention.

i often use the accessible stall due to claustrophobia, sensory issues, and the likelihood that i'll knock my elbows into something in the regular stalls. so i should be seeing restrooms at their most accessible. some of these examples i'm remembering from the post, some i've realized myself while i'm paying attention.

most single restrooms have no coat/bag hooks. many stalls also have no coat/bag hooks, despite having holes where the screws of the hook that used to be there was.

no restrooms i've seen have had hooks anywhere near the toilet (for medical devices, so people don't have to put their expensive medical devices on the dirty floor)

none have had an emergency pull cord (to alert staff that someone in the restroom needs assistance)

none have had sharps containers (for diabetics etc. also, no talking shit about addicts in the notes, safe sharps disposal is important for everyone who uses needles, regardless of reasons)

none have had grab bars on both sides of the toilet (only one on the wall side)

very few (or possibly none, it's hard to be sure as this is not a problem for me) have had unscented soap (allergies, migraine triggers)

very few have had hand sanitizer (useful for various reasons, including but not limited to the fact that the sinks aren't accessible to wheelchair users either). (those that did were single restrooms in restaurants, and they also stored some cleaning products there, which i think is funny but probably isn't great.)

multiple restaurants have had restrooms down narrow halls that have also been used for storage, making it completely inaccessible to wheelchair users

that's not even getting started on doors. heavy and sticking doors are way more common than they should be.

i don't think i've ever seen a public restroom with all of these, or even close.

if you want to be an ally to disabled people, start by paying attention to the bathrooms. they tell you exactly how often disabled people are considered in public spaces (almost never more than the law requires, often less)

[ghostlightreviews]

I'm actually annoyed at how much I enjoyed The Flash. After years of anticipation for some kind of Flash movie, watching this particular one go through almost every shade of production hell only to top it off with Miller getting embroiled in a string of assault, battery, kidnapping, and peace disturbance charges has been quite an experience.

It's difficult not to sully the movie as a piece of media with a hundred awful extenuating events, after all there is no case for Death of the Author here, Miller and Warner Bros. are very much alive and very much responsible and accountable for all wrongdoings. I deeply hope that Ezra Miller is getting the mental health treatment they need and will find time to openly apologize and make reparations for the widespread harm they have caused in due course. Additionally, WB is not innocent in its contributions to toxic working environments and unfair payment practices to both Writers and Actors. So, please, bear all this in mind during moments of praise dolloped throughout this review.

That being said:

This was way more fun than it should be considering the mess that preceded it.

Ezra Miller is (despite their personal life) incredibly charming and affable in both roles, not to mention still a talented performer who dragged out some real emotion in the final act. Sasha Calle pulls out a measured and organic performance in Supergirl, she is unfortunately burdened with a script and a film that doesn’t deserve her. Keaton, I think, makes me the most sad. After delivering a poignant and deftly crafted Riggan Thomson in Birdman, an actor haunted by the spectre of his superhero past, constantly trying to escape the shadow of the capeshit he spent his life performing in, there is a remarkable lack of awareness from Keaton’s agent and himself in getting back into the Batsuit not once but twice in the span of a few years. That Bat Credit Card was maxed out I guess.

Maribel Verdú as Nora Allen is particularly lovely for the short amount of screen time she has, a real emotional pillar in a silly silly film.

Everyone else was either fine or too completely average to be noticeable.

God, this film looks fucking atrocious. I won’t hear that the speed force scenes VFX were intentional, from top to bottom The Flash looks like a slop of shit, over saturated colours one minute, washed-out Snyder browns and greys the next, and just absolutely inconsistent visual storytelling. Some scenes look okay but not for a film that costs as much as this one, I think there is a stark contrast between intentionally stylized VFX and miscalculated attempts at the aforementioned. There are a couple of really nice practical costumes that basically get sidelined for weirdly clingy green screen abominations.

Okay, comic book asshole hat on now, there was no reason for this to be a half-assed Flashpoint adaptation. As a concept, Flashpoint is not so inaccessible to the general viewing public that you couldn’t just do it fully or not at all. I’m not even sure there is a solid enough reason to not just make The Flashes’ first film just him dealing with his own shit and using Jai Courtney to set up The Rogues as Captain Boomerang. I get that there is a desire to tie up loose ends from the Snyderverse and boot up a new Cinematic Universe at the same time, but it’s so messy that it muddles a really executable Comic Book movie concept.

Ultimately, I think this is where The Flash stumbles the hardest, a promising cast is let down by a film that is so deeply entrenched in the nonsense of a half-baked previous cinematic universe and trying to set one up that doesn’t even exist yet. What a waste. Then to achieve some of the ugliest looking VFX shots in the past decade, all this in a world where Marvel films exist? Truly amazing how hard they fumbled the bag on this.

My biggest hot take is that DC just fundamentally doesn’t get who Barry Allen is. Ezra is great but they play Barry so much closer to how a live-action Wally West Flash, to the point where I don’t get why they gave them Barry at all.

But by far the most filthy thing the film does is a parade of CGI ghouls in a startlingly bad multiversal moment right at the climax of the film. Dragging out the rubbery digital corpses of Adam West and Christopher Reeves is truly abominable and looks so bad, having a weird plasticine Nic Cage Superman when I know he’s the kind of actor who would have been there in a heartbeat to shoot a scene is bizarre AND to leave out two very much ALIVE actors who have catapulted The Flash into mainstream fame, John Wesley Shipp and Grant Gustin, the latter of which just ended a prolific tenure as Barry Allen this past year is unforgivable. Especially when the TV Flash found room for a fun Ezra Miller cameo, to completely ice out Gustin is really awful. But I guess par for the course for a film studio that, is currently actively ignoring fair working conditions for writers and actors, just vaulted a completed Batgirl project starring Brendan Fraser, and has a history of hiring abusers to create projects for them.

What a shame, there’s something special deep in the shit here, something that the audience has been robbed of. Some really fun and inventive moments on display, marred by a deep desire for people to remember Batman exists and used to be fun too. What a waste of everyone’s time and talent.

To be fair, the Looney Tunes moments with young Barry are so joyful and fun that we really just needed the whole film to feel like that.

1.5/5

Find me on Letterboxd here

[eimearkuopio]

Okay. This is where I have been ranting, so I should probably put out the stuff I wrote on paper at this stage.

Philosophies

I might be wrong.

Fail better.

Quality of life over quantity of life.

Suffering is not inevitable*, and it has no innate value**.

There is still hope.

First, know your values. Then, follow them.

Communication is key. So is kindness.

YourLogicalFallacyIs.com

*To be clear: every life will contain some suffering. But you don't need to seek out and hoard suffering the way people lacking in serotonin tend to idolise and venerate.

**It is a spectacular raw material. You can turn it into almost anything if you can tell the story properly. That's real transubstantiation, just like real communion is not just the Eucharist. I'm not here to override any existing faith, just to augment it.

That's the philosophies. Then there were little boxes that I annotated.

I love you all. It's okay.***

The Universe doesn't owe any individual happiness.

God isn't going to stop you. Should He need to?

Suffering is not inevitable, and it has no instead value.****

***I didn't know how this was going to work out. I definitely did not anticipate a complete break with reality resulting in sectioning, but maybe I should have.

****Yes, I wrote this down twice. It's that important.

Hypotheses

Humanity as a singular moral entity

Ethical immune system

Allergies/autoimmune conditions

Judaism as proto-immune cells*****

"Time" a form of separation for events, but events all exist across infinite spacetime field

Premonitions relate to likely outcomes

Human perception of "God" of necessity filtered through subjective human experiences => if objective morality exists, by definition inaccessible to humans

*****This is super important: Judaism is the oldest written religion, and the younger sibling religions treat them like shit most of the time. With that being said, what is currently happening in the Middle East is unacceptable and if we can't improve the situation...I don't know why everyone keeps insisting that the Apocalypse hasn't happened yet, is all.

So that's the more structured stuff. I handed that over to official folks in...uh, July. So that's how long people have been aware of what I'm dealing with, and doing sweet fuck-all about it. I only fell apart in October, because nobody was fucking helping me. I was trying to deal with all of this alone. Even now, I'm getting mental health support from the NHS (not super great because they have been underfunded and because I mask so well that they thought I was fine right up to the point where they decided I needed to be sectioned for me own good), but my purported faith is doing absolutely fuck-all to engage with me. Some people have excuses for that; others don't. I think they might be waiting to see if I'm going to come out the other side of this not wanting to still engage with my faith, so let's be clear: if they don't want me to be involved, I would prefer to be excommunicated sooner rather than later so that I can get on with my life. If they do want me to be involved, I would really like to actually have someone talk to me.

I think Nana had some weird beliefs that she confused for knowledge. I think she tried to cut the Catholicism-baby in half, instead of accepting discord within our faith. I think Catholicism is trying to do better by bringing synodality into play, but I genuinely don't know if we have time as a species for them to change instead of dying - and if we lose the incredible infrastructure of the Roman Catholic Church, we will probably not get to have another generation imo.

Our faith claims that if we ever try to declare things infallibly as part of our doctrine, the Holy Spirit, the Shekhinah, will be sent to prevent that error. I'm not declaring myself to be anything, because I already went fucking bugnuts and got kind-of better, but I'm declaring myself to be either a crazy Echo of a Prophet who might be a useful Oracle, or a crazy Auntie Eimear who wants to prevent any children from suffering what I suffered due to the failures of the Roman Catholic Church. I have sent them everything I can. I told them that my husband didn't sign up for the Prophet, just the woman, so I'd like to get this out of the way ASAP. I have received zero formal response, and I'm sure that's at least in part because they don't want to be seen to be encouraging my behaviour, so here's my declaration:

I am human.

It definitely feels like I got to choose to be human, but that's the choice I made.

I think an individual human is created in the image of God.

I think every individual has a minimum of five parts: mind and body (accident), plus soul, story, and context (substance).

Mind is about memories you can access in the collective unconscious or in the memory of the universal simulation. It's also about choices you make, but those are influenced by the other stuff.

Body can be cloned or healed or supplemented.

Soul... Is complicated. But I think the eyes are the window to the soul. Eye colour is determined by physician structure within the eyes. I think irises may be unique even between otherwise fungible bodies. Even between different days of the same body, depending on light and other things. This isn't my wheelhouse so I'm just giving the best version I can of my weird crazy explanation.

Story is who you believe you are. True names and perception of self. A combination of ego and of the version you see reflected in others' perception of you. I have very little ego. I'm not saying I have no pride! I'm saying the ego is the part that mediates between id and superego, and I suck at that without other people reflecting on my actions. The bicameral mindset and neurodivergence come into play here.

Context is the world at large and the village you inhabit. It's the source of guilt and shame and pride and ambition, and each of those things has a purpose but if you have a weak Story you don't know how to manage them.

I have so many other thoughts, but this is the best way I can find to write them out and make them available to the world. Because I'm an Echo and a human. It's so much easier to just reblog things than to formulate my own thoughts, especially when my substance has been so horrifically depleted by a world that thinks my mask is my substance. I survived whatever this was. It was a nearer thing than I would like, but that's because I've already survived a minimum of seven ego deaths without any outside help. So I'd really like some more help. Any volunteers?

[naturiisms]

"yeah it's real shit how inaccessible the arts have become," they huffed. "but, you can tell me more about growing up in appalachia while we do. i hear a lot of lore but i'd love to know how much of it is actually true." if it was anything like the things they'd read online, sage had officially moved up on their list of badassery. their stomach churned at the way they'd summed it up, but a small smile remained on their face. it was a price they'd become accustomed to, fleeing nature damning her to short lived connections. they were certain the last one would be different, but now they weren't so sure it would ever be different if they weren't, too. "it's kinda my fault, too. i left really fast and i didn't want to shock him by just picking him up and changing his life overnight, y'know?" besides, they'd adopted him together and while their ex might think withholding him was okay, they definitely did not. allowing the topics to flow they shook their head in amusement, laughter interlacing with their words. "shiiiiit, i probably would let a whole ass stranger pierce my ears, too. drunk me is a whole different bitch and to be fair, sober me isn't much better. i'm all about the cheap thrills," ayanna waved them off, smacking their lips together. "i think lots of people are cute. i don't think lots of people are cool. and as far as my mess goes, i'd rather pack it in a box and put it over there." she pushed her arms out to the left, hoping the reference would be caught. "probably not. we almost kissed that night he pierced my ears but then he said his brother might come home and then i think we both freaked out a little bit. i almost left cause it was kinda awkward but i was hungry and the leo in me couldn't let my own ego win, if that makes sense."

a wide grin spread at her spelling the acronym, thinking that it was great she'd found someone she meshed so well with. their little quirks seemed to compliment and bounce off each other, an unspoken understanding hanging between the two. "personally, i think there's way more appeal to being gay, but no, i don't think people do realize. society has completely brainwashed them! plus, chicks dig vampires. if i was a vampire i'm sure all of my problems would be gone. they might be replaced with bloodier ones, but you win some you lose some." she tried her best to contain her quizzical expression, nearly losing it at the thought of themself in a university setting. they were almost certain sage did not want to share a class with them, not if they wanted better than a d average, that is. "school and i do not mesh," they chuckled. "i would've been asking you questions the whole time or we'd be arguing with the professor." she was sure the two of them could go back and forth about just about any topic. ayanna shot a cheeky smile at sage, nose scrunching up at her friends display of emotions. it was clear from the body language that this owen had left his mark, and they were determined to find out more. "i met an owen at the strawberry festival a few days ago, but what are the chances it's the same one in this big city?" she sat up, knees folding to her chest and arms crossing around to hug them to her. "and weren't you just telling me that it's okay to have a little fun? pot, meet kettle." they laughed. "i think that if you two are friends, and a little something happened, if the friendship is strong enough then there could be a lot of fun waiting to happen. and either way, i'm sure the friendship would still be fine. tell me more, how exactly did this crush come about? have you been hanging out? or is it a fleeting library crush and you're waiting for him to sweep you off of your feet and take you out?"

Happy to hear their suggestion was welcomed, they carried on, "shit, I'd love to learn to throw. It's a big art in Appalachia, too -- I was just never close enough to any classes, or they were stupid expensive to attend." Having many different interests, they didn't know if they would be any good at it, but trying it looked like a lot of fun. It also seemed a bit spiritual in a way -- not that she was sure how her friend felt about that, they just kept that thought tucked away for the potential experience. As she listened to them speak on their previous relationship and healthy attachment, she just nodded, a little concern coming across at just how healthily it was actually being handled. That would be a question for another time. Instead, she hummed quietly and gave a pout. "It sounds extra hard with a furbaby involved. I couldn't imagine not having shared custody or something, but I guess those are the risks of letting a person in, getting close to them, and whatever extra lives that might contain." It was almost as if they had a real knack for finding the flipside to nearly anything and everything. Managing to remind herself of her whole Owen situation, she sighed softly and shook the thought away as quickly as it came. Instead, she focused on Ayanna's words, "Oh! I thought you were just lettin' a whole-ass stranger pierce your ears with no qualifications. I was shook!" As she listened, she let her eyes widen and herself let free a giggle. "Ohhhhhh, you think he's cute." She gasped, gave a dramatic groan, and laid back in the grass, "Eye candy?! C'mon. What's wrong with exploring your mess with someone else?" Romantics running through her mind, she huffed, "Not even a little bit of fun? I, if you're asking me -- and I know you're not -- think you should have a little fun."

"Oh, being a vampire would be so dope, let's be real, yes." Sage replied amusedly, fully enjoying Ayanna's response. "Uhm, kinda, yeah! L-O-L," they spelled the acronym accompanied with a giggle. "It's so badass. There's such an appeal to being a vampire and I'm just like... do people realize they're saying there's an appeal to being gay? It's perfect." Appreciating the way they just understood, she gave a lazy grin, "It would have been so fun to have a class with you in college or something. I think we would have made such an interesting dynamic in a classroom." It would have been fun to give a professor hell with them, but they were happy they had gotten to know them in the short time they'd been in Denver. Eyes tracing clouds in the sky, sage's face flushed a deep rouge. "I-I had originally thought it was so small, but now it's just fully fuckin' fleshed out and I'm dying." The barrage of questions only kept their face heated, hands snapping up to cover her in protection from more feelings. "K-Kissed? Oh my god. I-I... ah. I don't wanna fuck anything up and if I do literally anything else, I feel like it's all gonna crumble." Biting on their lip, they slowly peeked from behind their hands, quiet as they spoke. "I uhm, he's a nurse and comes into the library all the time -- Do y'know Owen, by chance?" Even saying his name made her stomach flip, a surge of excitement at his preoccupation in her brain.

[lovenona]

– two slow dancers; part of the artist!sukuna cinematic universe

(contains: hurt/comfort, mentions of suicidal thoughts, depression, and character death)

it’s snowing, you notice. a white blanket floats down from the heavens in a peaceful silence, enveloping the earth in a cold, wet hug. you have never loved the snow, sure – but when it looks like this, slow and pure in the glow of a lone streetlamp, you admit that there is a certain joy in feeling like the main character in a dramatic winter film.

you’re not alone in your little film, either – you notice a familiar figure poised just outside the light of the streetlamp, back turned to you. he shivers slightly, because, like always, he isn’t dressed for the weather. (it’ll ruin my aesthetic, he always tells you, as if winter coats and doc martens are mutually exclusive.) your best friend choso has always been one for visual presentation. he would never sacrifice fashion for comfort; that’s just who he is. 

you know this better than anyone, because it is you that choso makes late for class when he borrows your eyeliner in a frenzy to spruce up the signature black line painted across his nose. (it’s fashion, he says. how else will i stand out in this shithole school?)

you don’t know quite what he’s staring at: there’s nothing particularly interesting in front of you, and the only people left on campus at this hour are professors heading home to their families, tummies rumbling, and the stray students heading to and from the library, heads bowed under stress. the rest of the university left early to avoid the current snowstorm that will most definitely threaten your commute home. you, of course, had tried your hardest to leave sooner to avoid such an inconveniencing mess, but a certain tattoo-covered art student had successfully held you captive in an empty art classroom for far longer than expected.

(you are glad that it is dark out and that your winter coat has a high neckline.) 

“choso?” you call out, wading through the snow as you approach him gently. he remains still, like a porcelain statue, as if his soul had abandoned his body and left only a hollow shell behind. snow gathers like little microscopic diamonds on his dark hair, and, in a very un-choso-like fashion, he does not even attempt to brush them away. 

“choso? it’s me,” you try again. you’re close enough now that you place a tentative mitten on his shoulder, brushing away the faint layer of snow settled there. he shivers under your touch, says nothing. you look down; your shoes (his doc martens, your doc martens – you’re humanities students, after all) sit buried beneath a quickly thickening blanket. 

the snow floats down; it’s still, silent, as if you and him were the only two people in the entire world.

while choso appears to be watching the falling crystals, his gaze seeks something farther away, something distant and inaccessible to you. although he’s never been the most expressive person, you can’t help but feel a certain vacancy radiating from his form. the lights are flickering; no one’s home. you grip him tighter, as if the force of your affections will return him to himself, as if he has simply forgotten what it is to be and needs only a gentle reminder. 

for an indefinite stretch of time, you both say nothing – it’s just you holding his shoulder and him watching the snow. it’s hard and fast, now; you can barely see anything beyond your own feet and the outline of the lone streetlamp. you’ve exited reality and entered a timeless place, a wordless place that exists suspended somewhere between here and there. you forget to feel the cold.

“they loved the snow,” choso finally says, so quietly you wonder if you imagined it. “they never looked like it, but they were always begging to go sledding. we would go to this big hill behind our house.” 

you’re silent. choso never willingly mentions his two younger brothers, at least not while sober. you learned after a serious heart-to-heart with him your freshman year that they were murdered and that choso never really recovered from it. you’ve seen their photographs in his apartment: three boys, completely unalike in appearance and stature, posed in the youthful awkwardness of holiday greeting cards. three boys smiling together on choso’s middle school graduation. three boys playing board games, going hiking, holding up their christmas gifts with innocent grins. they were killed in a hit and run the night of his high school graduation, he’d told you, six shots in and barely standing on his feet. 

his brothers were everything to him. and the choso you know now, the choso you pull all-nighters with and share greasy fries with and have stress meltdowns during finals with, you know that this choso is only an echo of what he could have been. you know that this choso is perpetually lonely, that he’s hurting a hurt that will haunt him like a chronic ache for the rest of his life. i tried to end it, he told you the night you both got your shit rocked at a house party and he threw up in his bathtub for an hour. i just hated being alone, he admitted, and then he was crying. why am i alone?  

(you’re not alone, you’d said, holding his head in your hands like a baby bird. not anymore, not while i'm here.) 

he’s not crying now, but there’s a look in his eye, a tone in his voice, that suggests he will shatter at any moment. so you do what you know best, what you always do; you hug him, tightly, because if you let go he’ll crumble to dust and you’ll be lost forever. 

you must be a vision, you think, a vision of the beautiful couple embracing in the christmas romantic comedy, if a romantic comedy included two best friends and an emotional meltdown. 

he shudders against you; you know he’s crying, it’s inevitable. your mittens rub his back in circles, you press yourself closer and closer as if you could enter his body yourself and steal all of the sadness away. he returns the gesture almost immediately, begging you silently for something that cannot be articulated in human language. he buries his head in your neck like a bird in the sand, and you wait patiently as he takes what comfort he needs. 

“i miss them,” he tells you, and his words are choked. 

“i know,” you respond. “and that’s okay.” 

snow falls, timeless: gathered at your boots, suspended in the air, it defies gravitational laws, floating silently around the only two people in the universe. 

“thank you,” choso mumbles after a thousand years, finally, voice steadier this time. he sniffles pitifully. “thank you for being here.” 

you hug him just that much tighter, rubbing a mitten through his hair to shake the snow away. “i’m not going anywhere,” you tell him softly, and you mean it. “now, let’s go to my place. you’re soaking wet and i don’t want you to get sick.” 

choso obliges, clumsily wiping away his tears and snot, pulling away from your hug with the reluctance of a child who does not want the holidays to end. his eyes are red, and his eyeliner wobbly, and his cheeks flushed with emotion. but he looks calmer, now, as if his soul has taken up residence in his body again and is ready to be alive once more. 

and so you move forth, two lone souls together against the universe. you jostle shoulders, stomping through the thick white blanket at your feet, speaking the language of two dancers who know everything without having to say it out loud. together you reach the subway station, step out of the snow, and allow yourselves to be pulled into reality and the movement of the world at large. 

as you reach for your subway pass, choso clears his throat, and you look to him expectantly. 

“can i borrow your eyeliner when we get to yours? my nose is smudged.” 

[shuttymcshutfuck]

So deeply hurt

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker/Sasha James (polycule)

Type: Hurt/comfort

Word count: 2,039

TW: crying, hiding pain, fever, internalised ableism

A03 link

Now that he was closer Jon could tell it was a bad day. He could see the tension in Tim’s jaw, the way he swayed ever so slightly when he stood before righting himself, the fake smile he’s plastered on.

or: Tim's having flare up so they have a movie night.

Set vaguely in S1 or S2 but Sasha doesn't get not!them-ed.

As much as Tim joked around and slacked off, he was very rarely late. Especially not almost two hours late. Jon tried to relax as much as possible but with the concerned glances from Martin and Sasha every few minutes through the window in his door and the constant ticking of the clock in his office it was getting harder by the minute. But he had to stay professional, Elias couldn’t know about their relationship. Jon wasn’t ashamed in the slightest, he just didn’t want to get them all fired. Although, that didnt mean he hadn't sent off quite a few messages to him. All of which were unanswered. He was typing another when he heard a voice curse at the top of the stairs. Trying to look as casual as possible but presumably failing miserably, Jon grabbed his cane and rushed to the bottom of the stairs.

“Tim?” Through the fluorescent lights he could barely make out Tim sitting at the top of the stairs, crutches lying next to him. “Do you need a hand?” He tried to keep the worry out of his voice. They’d all agreed that none of them would make a big deal if Jon or Tim were using their aids. He wanted to respect that as best he could since he knew how bad it felt when people would keep pointing it out.

“Ah, no need. I got this!” Jon watched as Tim slowly slid himself and his crutches down each step before using them to stand. Now that he was closer Jon could tell it was a bad day. He could see the tension in Tim’s jaw, the way he swayed ever so slightly when he stood before righting himself, the fake smile he’s plastered on.

“Well, that was one way to do that. I’m sure Martin or Sasha would’ve been able to help.”

“Na, it’s alright. This building’s just inaccessible as shit. I doubt we would’ve been able to all fit together on those weird ass stairs anyway.”

“Well since you’re here now, there’s a statement on your desk I’d like you to look into after you’ve finished compiling the research from yesterday.” Putting his professionalism on as much as he could, Jon went back to his office leaving Tim to get settled at his desk. He shot Martin a quick text to keep an eye on him and tried his best to continue with his work.

Recording a few statements helped distract him for a bit even if he knew that they were all fake. Floating lights, a ‘disappearing’ man and walkie talkie feedback that sounded like words. It wasn’t long until a knock at his door brought him back to the present. “Come in.”

“Hey,” Martin, of course. “I’m going to the breakroom to make myself a cuppa, do you want one?” Jon never understood why Martin always lowered himself when he entered a room. It was like he was trying to take up the least amount of space possible.

“Yes, thank you. I’ll come along, I need to stretch my legs anyway.” Perfect, a completely professional reason to talk to him in relative privacy. “How has he been?” Jon set his cane beside him as he sat at the breakroom table, watching Martin go through the practiced motions of making tea.

“I’m not sure, he looks a bit peaky but he seems alright.” It was days like these that Jon struggled with boundaries the four of them had set. He knows that if Tim needs help, he’ll ask for it. But he also knows how stubborn you can become when you’re in pain, how frustrating it can be, how hard it is to ask for help. “In other news, I was thinking of having a movie night at mine tonight? Tim and Sasha are down, fancy it?” Jon brought himself back, this is something he could do. Something that would help.

“That sounds lovely but why don’t we have it at mine?” Jon took the cup Martin handed him and sipped, perfect as always.

“Uh, sure.” Martin looked a bit hesitant, probably because Jon usually doesn’t offer up his flat if Martin’s already offered. They all know Jon prefers their flats to his because then he can kidnap a jumper or cardigan to feel safer once he has to leave.

“It’s just, my flat’s closer and I think it’s best for Tim and I since there’s a lift.” He wasn’t lying persay, the lift would be better for the two of them but that wasn’t the only reason. He had supplies for bad days at his house. Heat pads, painkillers, ice packs, you name it. And he knew Tim was going to need it. He’d crash soon enough, most likely when they were all finally settled at Jon’s, so he needed to be able to help once Tim let them.

“Oh right, of course. Sounds great, I’ll let them know.”

-----

It wasn’t long until Tim popped into Jon’s office, struggling with the door slightly. “I’ve got that research for you, Boss.” Jon gestured to one of the seats in front of his desk which Tim took quickly. He pulled the file from his bag once he sat down and had his hands free again.

“Tim, I- um. Is there anything i can do?” Jon tried to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to sound patronising.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” So he was still in the stubborn stage, great. “I’m all set for the last hour work wise if that’s what you’re asking.” He stood and Jon could see him hide a wince.

“Okay, I’ll let you get on then. Thank you again for the research.” All Jon got in return was a nod before Tim was out the door as fast as he could be.

-----

The journey to Jon’s flat was nice for once, mostly due to Sasha driving them all instead of having to take the tube. But even just sitting mostly in silence it was comfortable. As soon as they were in his flat he wandered off to get changed into comfier clothes, urging them all to do the same. Once they were all back in the living room he spotted Tim in a familiar jumper, specifically the one Jon was looking for as it was nice and cosy but he left it with Tim. He looked like he needed it more than he did.

Stocked up with snacks and tea, bundled up in Jon’s duvet that he’d asked Martin to bring through, movie night began. After finishing La La Land per Sasha’s request and Howl’s Moving Castle per Martin’s request they decided to order some takeout.

“Tim, do you just want your usual?” Sasha was over at the table, notepad in hand with everyone's orders but his. The only answer she got however was a groan. Jon gently moved him off of his shoulder where he had been resting his head and it was only then he felt the heat coming off Tim’s skin.

“Hey, sleepyhead. Can you wake up for a minute for me please?” Jon watched him blink slowly and he swore he had fallen in love with him all over again.

“Is he alright?” Martin moved the duvet off of their laps and knelt at the feet of Jon and Tim. “Love, you’ve got a bit, uh-” Martin's gaze fell to Jon’s shoulder and when he followed he saw what Martin was clearly holding back a laugh at. Tim had drooled over his shirt.

“Martin, can you go into the cabinet in the kitchen, grab some painkillers, water and the thermometer for me please?” Martin’s face dropped so Jon rushed to calm him. “He’s okay, I think it's just a flare up. Take a breath, Love.” Jon watched him do as asked and head over to the kitchen. “Sasha, just order him his usual as long as it’s not too spicy.”

“Gotcha, I’ll be back in a minute.” She placed a kiss on Jon’s cheek then Tim’s, frowning slightly at the heat before heading to the bedroom to order.

“So, how are you really feeling? All of it, okay?” Jon kept his voice low and soft, channeling all the times Martin had calmed him down from a nightmare, all the times Sasha had comforted when the knock on his office door sounded too familiar, all the times Tim had helped him home once everyone had left because the pain was so bad.

"I'm alright, just being a drama queen as usual." Jon watched as Tim’s eyes filled with tears.

" Tim ." It seemed that Jon had finally chipped at his stubborn exterior just enough to let Tim breathe.

“I…Awful, it just hurts and I’m so tired, I don’t-” Jon pulled him into a hug as he finally let the tears fall, running a hand up and down Tim’s back while the other cradled his head.

“It’s okay, it's okay.” They sat there, Jon whispered sweet nothings until Tim’s sobs had calmed enough that he could speak “What hurts, Love?”

“Everything but my hips hurt the worst. It’s like they’re shooting pain down the rest of my legs.”  Tim pulled back slightly and Jon let him, wiping away Tim’s tears with his thumb.

“Got them Jon, but if it’s a flare up then why do we need the thermometer?” Martin’s eyes flickered over Tim’s face and Jon could tell he was holding back his mother-hen instincts. He trusted Jon and it made his chest warm to think that he trusted Jon enough to let him lead.

“I’m just hot stuff, what can I say?” The joke made them both smile, breaking some of the tension.

“Sometimes during flare ups you can get low grade fevers, I just want to make sure it’s not too high.” Jon explained as Martin kneeled back at their feet.

“Alright, okay.”

“Martin, it’s okay.” Jon reached out and took his hand, the worry practically radiating off of him.

“I know, I’ve just never been around either of you when you’ve had a flare up before and-” Jon’s eyes fell to his lap, guilt slowly seeping into his bones. He could tell Tim felt the same, squeezing his hand slightly before interrupting Martin. “You have actually, as much as I don’t want to admit it, we are relatively good at hiding them. Which isn’t necessarily a good thing.”

Martin looked to Jon and he nodded. “Right. Well, we can talk about that later.”

“Okay.” He turned to Tim. “Is it alright if i take your temperature, love?” Jon was pretty sure that he would say yes but it was still good to ask, to make sure Tim was comfortable.

“Yeah, alright.” Martin handed him the thermometer and Jon put it in his ear, waiting for the beep before taking it out again and doing it to the other ear.

“Hmm, 38.1 and 38.3. Not bad but still could be better. Let’s get some painkillers and water into you. Sasha’s ordering food just now so you’ll have that soon too.” Tim took them without issues but seemed uncomfortable when Jon mentioned dinner.

“I’m really not hungry just now.”

“Nausea or just no appetite?” Jon didn’t want to force him to eat if he felt nauseous but he needed some form of food in him if he was going to take more painkillers.

“Appetite.” Good, that’s something at least. Something he can work with.

“Why don’t you try some food and if you don’t want what we’ve ordered I’ll make you some toast?” As much as he hated that Tim was in so much pain it felt nice knowing what to do for once. Pain was something he was familiar with, something he knew so much about that it was instinct to him now.

“Alright.” Jon stood up and motioned for him to move along the couch slightly and he complied. He got them situated so Tim was lying down with his head on Jon’s chest and legs over Martin’s lap. He felt Tim curl into him and sigh contentedly. “Jon?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” Jon ran his fingers through Tim’s hair, watching as his eyes started to shut again.

“Of course, love. You know I’m always here.”

[tremastersweb]

"I... but... I don't-... The CIA came to you? but-"

He struggles to find his words, his answers sinking in, fitting into the puzzle, almost completing an image, although still something seems... off, to him, but yet, too many questions, too many thoughts, he can't quite place his finger on it.

"...What kind of curse... who would put this on you? on a child... then for the rest of your life?"

Devastating. A shiver runs through his spine, all this implies, the entirety of his life, being subject not just to the drums, which he in turn did not fully believe until recently, but... this? All connections he could possibly have had, all gone because of the damned curse, he himself severed them, his own dreams and aspirations, gone, that was... such a lonely existence, and the guilt... He could not begin to imagine. His eyes begin to wet, and he's about to wonder what that means for him, when the Magister mentions his current face.

"...And then, even after I left, you tried to... to save me from it? You have been trying all this time, no, you're still at it, and I-... I-..."

His breath begins to quicken, his emotions and own guilt catching up to him, hearts sinking to his stomach deeper than he could imagine that feeling could even get. He struggles to speak.

"I thought... you hated me. I thought you hated me because I left you, because I-... no... something more, I can't... quite remember..."

He closes his eyes shut, something hurting in his head, inaccessible. He swallows, any remains of the memory washing away with it as his mind seems to spin back into normal awareness, he holds himself on the truck to stop the dizziness, deep breaths, deep breaths... just as he said. It seems to help.

"I-... I'm sorry, I-... I would... have loved to meet her... I'm so, so sorry..."

He slowly opens his eyes, still a bit dazed, glancing at him, defeated, his words cut short again. He doesn't want him to deal with his own breakdown, either, no, he's had enough, he wants to comfort him. He moves closer to him, stalling the movement, considering, after that many centuries, maybe a hug, a truly heartsfelt one, maybe he would accept it, although no sort of comfort could mend this wound. His arms twitch out of their place, and...

...A notification from his phone interrupts his action, such he had modified to show only important, urgent matters.

"Shit. Arthur."

The Doctor checks his phone, a reply. He hisses to himself, showing the Magister.

"...I really, really hate to cut this short, but... He doesn't sound like he's doing very well. We should get going, as soon as we can, I- We... We can talk later, I-"

No, not an excuse, this is not an excuse. This time, it is important. He takes a deep breath, stuffing the phone back on his pocket, then gently holding the Magister's face, looking him right in the eye, serious, concerned, his hands trembling and his eyes red from the sudden holding back of tears.

"...I promise. I truly do."

He then lets go, standing up and offering him a hand.

"...Right, the... the sacktruck, yes? Can... Should I... go get it? Do you need a moment?..."

"...Fascinating..."

The Doctor inspects both the twin TARDISes, well, at least in the exterior they are indistinguishable. He glances at the Magister, and looks around his surroundings. So far, not a soul in there. He settles on taking the TARDIS to the left, gently placing a hand on her surface, his expression turning to concern.

"...I'm so sorry. We'll figure this out, okay?..."

Then he lifts it, taking a deep breath, he'll need all of his oxygen, everyone would, right?

"...By the way, shouldn't he be here? You know... Koschei."

[how-to-do-activism]

What are some decent, reliable, left-ish (or at least less corporate shill) news sources that don't bog down in spectacle or inaccessible rhetoric? I'm having real trouble striking a balance between "staying reasonably informed about the state of the world" and "so obsessive and paranoid over the news that i wake up one day unable to turn my head left because of the muscle tension" and having some concrete news sources in my pocket would probably help a lot

Okay serious answer: If you read Spanish check out La Jornada.

If you don’t read Spanish - uh.

I’m assuming you’re in the US because you’re asking me.

Local-esque papers? Small-ish papers? I tend to find the Sacramento Bee less off-putting than a lot of other publications; The San Jose Mercury News is another one I’ll turn to. But I grew up in CA so outside of that I don’t really know much about papers that are smaller than the Chicago Tribune.

The Left has a news problem. Really left lefties don’t tend to write in newspapers and when they do really really left lefties yell at them for it.

If you’re trying to just keep up with current events but you don’t want to go completely fucking nuts, look at Fox news, or get behind a paywall then I recommend the following:

Check your LOCAL-local paper, the smallest one closest to you. The one run by one pissed-off grandma and three college students that’s half ads for the local furniture store and is available for free in front of city hall. These are usually weeklies. Pick them up and read the whole news section.

Check your local college paper. College journalists are fucking awesome and give a ton of shits about what they’re doing. The stories will be highly campus-focused but during the school year there’s usually a breaking news area that covers local and national news. These papers are almost all online these days.

Check your local-ish paper. I’m currently living in Las Vegas so that would be any paper published within a 500 mile radius that has a metro-area population of half a million people or more. Papers from San Diego or Phoenix or Las Vegas or Reno would count. Find the one you trust the most and bookmark it.

Check Buzzfeed News (I know, I know, but their journalism branch is pretty good)

Check the BBC

I’m a little weird in that I’m either reading no news whatsoever or I’m reading *everything* because I spent five years as a journalism major and it kind of broke me as a human being.

Your goal is to *glance* at the news every day to see what the headlines are and then look away.

Once a week catch up on major stories. Dedicate an hour or four (not four, again, I am kind of not okay) to seeing what’s been happening in depth. The reason you do this once a week is because most headlines are developing stories that don’t actually have any news content these days. The full coverage usually takes at least a day or two to get past the breathless this-just-in stage.

If you’re on twitter follow *one* major news network but OH BUDDY, do I think you should get off twitter. If you’re feeling sick and overwhelmed and lost because the news is so ubiquitous and so terrible and you’re on twitter I promise you that twitter is part of the problem for you.

For good in-depth left-esque stuff I tend to check out Slate, Vox, the Intercept, and actually a whole bunch of tech blogs. Ars Technica and Boing Boing are good places to start.

I dunno, friend, the news is a trashfire. It’s hard to find things that are reliable and it’s hard to find things that don’t seem like they’ve bought in to the worst parts of capitalism without reading, like, Salon or some shit and Salon is frequently useless and infuriating.

Also Teen Vogue is pretty great right now and how’s that for a kick in the balls? Really excellent lefty journalism is coming from a children’s fashion magazine.

(Teen Vogue’s staff are EXCELLENT and I will not hear them besmirched but FUCK when I was a journalism major it was very much the In Thing to sneer at fashion magazines. Which I didn’t because I had a subscription to Details from the ages of 16 to 24 and they had some completely fucking INCREDIBLE investigative news stories and utterly amazing interviews. But yeah people used to give me side-eye in my very serious news journalism conversations because I was way more into the magazine side of things and since I was more interested in reading Details than Newsweek I wasn’t seen as newsy enough but dude, when’s the last time Newsweek dedicated 5000 words to *anything*??? Depth! Over! Speed!)

Also please read news about your country that is written by other countries especially if you’re from the US because the perplexed tone of the BBC going “The Americans???? Are at it again???” is fantastic but also really grounding - looking away from the Fox New squabbling and talking heads smugness is just. It’s very refreshing. I like the BBC because it’s easy for me to read but periodically if I have the time I’ll also try to check out La Jornada but my Spanish isn’t really strong enough to read it reliably.

[teresa-of-ficwill]

Dead End Journey (or not?) - The Witcher

Summary:

When you fall in love with the witcher, things are never going on easy. Jaskier knew it. But what if you fell in love with two witchers? And also met a really gorgeous woman, who you can't get out of your head? It gets even more complicated.

However, maybe… Jaskier even likes all this a little bit. Or not a little? Anyway, time will tell.

CHAPTER 1

Jaskier was sure that something had gone wrong. Completely wrong. He had never imagined hanging around with a broken heart but there he was. Shattered to pieces. Rejected by his only one.

Actually, Geralt wasn’t his only one in common understanding. Jaskier slept with so many people he could not even count. Men, women… to him that didn’t matter. He was attractive, funny, and good at sex – people loved him for that. But everyone has to stop somewhere. And Jaskier thought he was ready to stop if Geralt was by his side. As a witcher, as a friend… and as a lover.

But his beloved man had always chosen another one. Yennefer. It was really predictable, to be honest, but Jaskier didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to believe. Yen… she is a bitch. But she is really attractive, hot and good-looking bitch. She treated Geralt like shit and he fell for that. Oh, what a shame. But, maybe, Geralt didn’t want to be loved. Maybe he just wanted to be controlled.

Jaskier was not sure but he actually didn’t want to figure it out. He just wanted to forget but it seemed impossible. So, he decided to just get drunk till he forgets his own name. Really good idea.

This woman… she was beautiful. Blond hair, nice smile, and drunk green eyes – absolutely his type. She wanted him. She really did. So, he let her hit on like he always does. Good sex can never cause a threat, you know.

She treated him well. Jaskier didn’t know why he noticed that but he did. She was gentle and slow, getting sure they both would have their part of pleasure. Usually, Jaskier is in charge in his one-night stands but this time he gave her a chance to take control.

“You didn’t ask my name,” she said, suddenly letting his cock out of her mouth.

“W-what?”

“You didn’t ask my name,” she repeated.

“Oh… I’m… I’m sorry I…”

“Don’t be, dear. I didn’t ask your name either. My name is Jane.”

“Jaskier,” he said after a few seconds, a little bit confused.

“Nice to meet you, Jaskier,” she smiled playfully and continued sucking his dick.

The bard felt confused just for the next few seconds but pleasure made him forget about that pretty fast. It’s not too strange to ask the name of a man whose dick you are sucking at this moment, is it? Everyone did it at least once, right?

Then Jane decided to ride him. He wasn’t against it. She felt… good. Like any pretty woman. She knew exactly what she was doing, and it was really attractive. Sometimes Jaskier loves not to be in charge and just take pleasure given to him by someone else. It was a good way to forget. Not to think about Geralt and Yennefer. And – for god’s sake – not to think about Yen riding Geralt’s cock just like Jane rides his.

The picture went through his mind really fast and it was so disgusting Jaskier almost lost all his sexual arousal. But suddenly Jane kissed him. Gently but with passion. She didn’t kiss him before, they were just having sex, so it was all of a sudden but he liked it.

So Jaskier closed his eyes and imagined Geralt kissing him like that. Kissing while riding his dick. Geralt’s moans with his deep voice… the bard is sure that would sound amazing. Unbelievably perfect. Right.

Picture which went through his mind this time was so bright, so wanted, and inaccessible that it made Jaskier cum really hard. It was literally one of the best orgasms he has ever got. With close eyes, dreaming about impossible… the bard suddenly felt so miserable he felt himself about to cry. Fortunately, he managed to get a grip before he opened his eyes.

Jane smiled, fixed her hair, and got off him.

“Was it… fine?” Jaskier asked when she lied down by his side. He got so distracted with his dreams so he felt unsure if she got her orgasm.

“It was… quite good actually,” she took a cigarette from the bedside table and lit it with a match. “You gave me a chance to be in charge and I highly appreciate it. Most of the men are too afraid of the idea of being dominated. Ugh… boring people.”

“Yeah,” the bard smiled. “They’re just too afraid of losing control.”

“Like everyone, dear.”

They sat in silence for a while.

“So…”, started Jane, while lighting another cigarette, “It’s time to get to know each other better. It should be easier as we had sex already.”

“Is it really necessary?” Jaskier asked.

“Oh, you don’t want to?”

“No! No, I mean… you don’t have to do it just because we had sex. Quite good sex, actually, but it’s not the point. It’s not your duty.”

“Of course, it’s not,” Jane smiled and put a cigarette to her lips, taking a deep breath. “I never do anything I have to. Just the things I want,” she exhaled. “So, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“How comes such a pretty boy has such a bad taste in women?” Jane asked, making the bard choke on air.

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I have said.”

“Wait, I just… don’t understand. I've slept with you and now you're saying I have a bad taste in women?” asked Jaskier feeling confused.

“Yes. Yes, I do” Jane smiled. “You had known me for like two seconds and, when I proposed you sex, you agreed immediately”.

“But you are beautiful! Why should I have said «no»?”

The woman shook her head.

“It's not only about me, you silly bard. It's about every woman you have ever been with. I've heard about it pretty much. Rumors...” she pressed the end of a cigarette to her lips then exhaled. “They spread. Faster than you think.”

“So, you have known who I am when bumped into me in a tavern?”

“Not really. I was aware you look like this famous bard and you have a lute but I didn’t know for sure” Jane shrugged her shoulders. “Not before you said your name. But let’s return to the question I asked.”

“I don’t know what to answer. And what’s so bad about rumors? They make me popular among women... and men”, Jaskier smiled awkwardly. Actually, he didn't want to share his sexuality with his one-night-stand but it seems like he'd already done that.

“Do you think it's for good?”

“Sorry?”

“Being widely known as a good lover, not a good poet”, Jane explained. “Is this what you want? To be just another man who was quite good in bed and that's all?”

“Are you trying to insult me?”

“I'm trying to understand. And somehow prove you have a bad taste in women”, Jane chuckled.

“I do NOT have a bad taste in women. Stop repeating that!” Jaskier exclaimed.

“But it's true. You sleep with every woman who appears on your way. Old or young, virgin or whore... to you it doesn't matter, does it?”

“I think it... doesn't”.

“You are choosing everyone. It's not good taste, I swear".

“What's it then?”

“You should ask yourself, not me. But it seems like it's just... loneliness”.

“Loneliness?” Jaskier asked.

“Yes,” Jane smiled kindly. “It's just loneliness which leads us in beds of strangers. We have sex and then we move on without even remembering their names. We break so many beautiful hearts of people who don't deserve it because ours have already been broken”.

She put the cigarette out and then threw it on the floor.

“We are living in a fucking nightmare”, added Jane quietly. “And destroy every person we touch”.

They both kept quiet for a while. The woman took a new cigarette from the box, stood up, and walked to the fire, giving Jaskier a great view of her naked body. She was beautiful and he couldn't deny it. But also, she was smart.

The bard didn't like to admit it but he always was somehow afraid of smart people. They analyze him. They look deeply into his soul without any permission and reveal secrets he didn't think he had.

“If we have this kind of conversation anyway,” said Jane, forcing Jaskier to look at her again. “Tell me... is there someone who you secretly in love with? Oh... and don't look at me like that, dear. I just wanna understand how many things we have in common”.

“No”, answered the bard immediately.

Jane smiled. “You're terrible liar, Jaskier. At least now.”

“Oh, well... there is someone.”

“Someone who broke your heart but you still love him with all the pieces, I guess”, the woman lighted her cigarette.

“How did you know it's him?”

“I didn't. It was just a guess and you proved it", Jane pressed the end of a cigarette to her lips. “So what is his name?”

“Geralt of Rivia.”

“Is it that man you always sing about? Everyone knows him as a White Wolf or something like that,” the woman asked, slowly returning to bed.

“Yes’.

“Oh, I'm sorry’.

“Why?”

“Because I know this kind of men. They are brave and lovely and beautiful... and absolutely insensitive when it comes to the affairs of the heart. He could accidentally break your heart and still don't know he did it.”

“Are you saying that Geralt doesn't have feelings?” Jaskier chuckled. “It's just a stupid myth about the witchers”.

“No, you didn't get it. I say that Geralt... ugh, I didn't think it would be so hard to talk about,” Jane looked at the bard before she sat at the corner of the bed. “I say that witchers are bad when it comes to feelings. They don't know how to love. They are not emotionless, they are just... inexperienced. I'm not sure it's the right word but still. They don't want to cause hurt. But they make mistakes and break our hearts just because they don't know how to do it right. And it is... the saddest thing I have ever understood.”

“Some witcher also broke your heart, didn't he?”

“Yes. And I thought I was fine until I've found myself hanging around and sleeping with strangers”.

“So, you think there is no chance I will be happy with Geralt?” Jaskier asked and it seemed like a very important question to him.

“Depends on you”.

“How so?”

“If you are ready to teach him how to love and let him break your heart again and again and again with his somehow stupid mistakes... well, maybe you'll have a happily ever after. I don't know.”

“You don't seem happy.”

“I didn't try. I’ve failed before I even started. But you can succeed.”

“You think so?”

Jane smiled kindly. “I'm sure you can. It's about patience... and love probably, but... you won't succeed if you aren't patient enough.”

“Are you still in love?” asked Jaskier after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“Huh?”

“Are you still in love with your witcher?”

The woman smiled again but there was a pain behind her smile. “I wanna say I'm not but that would be a lie.”

“What's his name? Maybe... maybe I know him.”

She waited for a couple of seconds. “Lambert. He's son of a bitch but I had fallen for him without even noticing. And then it was too late.”

“What happened between you two?” asked Jaskier. Maybe it was quite inappropriate question, but he wanted to know.

“He cheated on me. And then again. And again and... He shattered my heart into pieces and I ended this relationship because I was nearly to end myself. I'm in love with him but he didn't worth my death. I still have some kind of self-respect, you know.”

“He absolutely did not worth your death. You're an amazing woman. You can find someone better.”

“As well as you, dear. But here we are, talking about our broken hearts.”

Jaskier wanted to answer something but he couldn't find any proper words. Because Jane was right and he understood that. They both can find someone who will love them, who will care about them, who won’t break their hearts.

Oh, no, it’s not right. Truth be told, it always was a dead-end journey and they still took it. They chose the most painful path. They made their hearts bleed, all by themselves. And now they have to pay the cost.

Jane took his hand, forcing Jaskier to look at her again. “Does it feel like hell when you think about him?” she asked.

“Yes, it does”.

“Do you like it?”

Jaskier swallowed loudly, “Yes, I do.”

You can find the next chapters here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29364243/chapters/72132126#workskin

[robotslenderman]

When Avallac'h and Ciri are in the Night City, what is their life like? How do they make money? What are the contradictions? Do you think this cohabitation experience has enhanced their relationship? Thank you : D

Sorry for taking so long to answer, anon, but I didn’t know fuck all about Night City back then. Now I’ve played some CP77, I think I can answer this better.

TL;DR -- Extremely fucking hard. They went in blind in strange clothing that would have had everyone stare at them. They had no implants, didn’t know about guns, didn’t know how to drive, didn’t know how to shoot, didn’t know anyone they could go to for help, and possibly (likely) didn’t know the language either. They didn’t know where to take shelter, how to get food, and wouldn’t have been able to use digital money without implants and so would have been forced to get their hands on paper money... which even illegal jobs might not pay in. They would have been up shit creek without a paddle. No skills, no language, no connections -- it’s a miracle they made it.

---

Truthfully, no matter the world they end up in, it would have been extremely hard for them. Especially at first. Think about it -- they’d have no local currency and no papers of any kind, no connections, little food, no knowledge of the locality. We can google Poland before we fuck off to Poland; Ciri and Avallac’h can’t do that. They don’t have local clothing to blend in, they don’t have weapons that are actually useful, they don’t know the culture. They’re going in completely blind.

In a place like Night City it’d be even harder because of the technology differences. They don’t know about guns. They don’t know about the net, or implants, or anything. They don’t know how to get money for food or who they can ask for help. It doesn’t help that the people in Night City are absolutely brutal. If we want to be REALLY realistic, there’s no reason Ciri and Avallac’h would speak English or any of the languages there, and there’s no reason anyone’s autotranslator would be able to understand Ciri and Avallac’h.

But even without the language difference, even pretending they can understand everyone else somehow -- I think it’s a miracle they survived.

Ciri and Avallac’h aren’t stupid... but I think they’d get screwed over a lot in the beginning because they’d be starving and broke and implant-less and have no choice but to rely on other people for help. They would absolutely not have been able to go it alone, and in Night City they’d have to be extraordinarily lucky to come across a genuine Good Samaritan who’s not scared to help them. And having to rely on other people would mean that inevitably, almost certainly very early on, they’d get screwed over.

In Night City, being screwed over means dying -- especially without guns or implants. Ciri’s sword skills are useless then, and bullets are faster than Avallac’h’s magic.

Hell, how would they have been able to get local clothes that didn’t make them stick out like a sore thumb?

The only way I can think they survived early on is liberal use of Axii early on from both Avallac’h and Ciri -- used to gather information and rob people for money, because they don’t have the connections or the know-how to get work they’d actually be able to do. And even then they’d need to get paper money because again, no implants, and paper money seems to be quite rare. So how many people are they trying to mug that would have absolutely no money on them? They’d have to resort to criminals wanting to not leave a digital trail -- and then they have a problem on their hands in that they’re pissing off someone who’s more dangerous to them than they are to the criminal. And possibly the criminal’s buddies.

Honestly? I don’t know how they survived without a lot of theft and a lot of Axii. I know Ciri says they should have stayed there, but they would have been forced to take shelter in abandoned buildings (and hope there isn’t anyone already squatting there -- homeless problem in Night City is huge), would have been forced to steal food, would have been constantly on the run from mugging gangsters.

They couldn’t just sashay in and rent a motel on their first day like it was nbd, even if they spoke the language. Maybe later on, but not for a while. They would have quickly found out that guns were a thing accessible to just about everyone -- guns which would have taken time for Ciri and Avallac’h to learn to use, you don’t become a good shot overnight -- and they’d have known nothing about the world. Neither of them can drive, which is essential for a lot of fixer jobs, and lack of implants means that public transport might have been inaccessible to them. Even stealing would be risky -- they don’t know anything about anti-theft measures. Security cameras, alarms, detectors. Ciri goes into a grocery store, steals food when she thinks nobody is watching (and Avallac’h has told her there’s no magical wards on the products), then gets shot at trying to run away. She didn’t see any crossbows or bows, but something’s whizzing through the air at her faster than an arrow and it doesn’t take a genius to know she’s dead if one collides with her.

It would have been very, very hard for both of them. I think they only survived due to pure luck. There’s no other way they could have. Bullets dodged, friendly people encountered -- a lot of things would have had to line up for them to survive a place they went into completely blind.

And if they weren’t able to understand the people there, it would’ve been even harder.

[solarcitymelodies]

Hello! This disability pride month I ask you all to love my boyfriend as much as I do. /Hj

(but seriously. hate to self promo but we are both starving artists! and we make art together we deeply care about! It is cool!!)

That aside....

This has been, and is a journey for both of us. I'm incredibly grateful that I'm able to share this with him and learn with him, and as we navigate this together, I've been forced to do a LOT of introspection.

I did not realize how horrendously inaccessible the world was to those that are physically disabled before I met him. And it's bad. There's really nothing like going to "walkable cities" and realizing that almost no buildings are wheelchair accessible. Either entirely cut off by a staircase or cut off by a thick ass chunk of concrete for basically no reason I can think of other than "let's put some random shit in front of our door!"

People are either completely uncaring or vaguely coddling about it. They offer help when you literally did not ask nor want any. And of course many people are nice about it! There's a lovely few that know how to be fucking normal, but tragically people that know how to be fucking normal are a dying breed. So.

And as this all has gone on, I've started to realize that I'm very likely more mentally disabled than I thought! And that is!! STRESSFUL! I am still trying to figure out how to even go about getting tested for things, potentially learning disabilities chiefly, and all of this has seriously put a lot into perspective for me.

All is a journey though, and as much as shit kinda sucks, starting to connect with a wider queer, disabled community, both online and off, has been immensely helpful.

Love and feel loved this month! (And every month, tbh.) Take breaks when you need to. Everything is a-fucking-lot all the time and I get it. I love ya.

Happy disability pride month!!! I made myself a little pfp teehee :3

I’ve been going through a journey the past few years of figuring out what the hell is wrong with me and how to accommodate myself, both physically and mentally. Its hard being a young adult and being unable to do so many things simply because my body is unable to. Im still figuring out my bodies boundaries and such, and im definitely struggling with plenty of ableism from both my own family and my partners; but im getting to a point where im proud of who i am and im proud to be able to take care of myself! I still struggle emotionally with the fact that i need to use a cane or a wheelchair, or the fact I’ll never be normal without my meds or be able to work a “normal job”. Luckily i have my lovely partner through all of this, who has supported me thoroughly throughout this whole process.

This just goes out to say, im proud of everyone who’s struggling with accepting their disability/disabilities and figuring out their limits and such; no matter it being physical or mental. I see you, you’re doing great. You’re so beautiful and wonderful and you’re doing so amazing. Drink some water, take your meds, take care of yourself.

[turtletotem]

If he wanted you, he'd ask for you

A/B/O fic for Cherik Week! Set post-XMA, or... almost-post-XMA. A little over 2k words.

Erik thought things had been going well.

He, Charles, Jean, and a team of architects were elbow-deep in plans to rebuild the mansion, with certain enhancements; it would all happen very quickly once it began, but had to be planned down to the centimeter, first. All the students who could be sent home safely had gone; the remainder, along with Charles and Erik themselves and a smattering of other adults, were staying in a camp of startlingly luxurious tents down the hill from the mansion site, alpha and omega students kept separate by the larger section of betas in the middle. No one had commented on Erik and Charles sharing a tent; everyone was sharing with someone, and if Hank McCoy had muttered something under his breath about keeping enemies closer, Erik had chosen not to hear it. He knew he had plenty to make up for.

But he was making up for it, he thought, in some small way. Helping with the students, helping with the mansion, helping Charles. It wouldn't bring back the entire city of Cairo, but nothing else would, either, including his death. Those were Charles's exact words, over a chessboard in the privacy of their tent, when they talked about the diplomatic efforts Charles was making on his behalf, and the scars inside Erik's mind where Apocalypse had used some form of persuasion power to steer Erik, Storm and the other horsemen in the direction he wanted them to go.

Erik had thought that too much had happened between them for him and Charles to ever return to the easiness, the deep understanding and connection they had once had, before everything went wrong. Instead, he was shocked speechless sometimes by how much of it was still there—and how much more of it he could feel waiting, behind scars and defensive walls, inaccessible now but still there, if they could find a way to bring it out of hiding again. They slept in their separate beds on opposite sides of the tent, but small touches were beginning to reappear—fingers that brushed as they passed a dish, hands clapping shoulders to celebrate a good joke or small breakthrough. Three days ago, Erik had dared to swipe his palm across the newly bald expanse of Charles's head and call him Professor Eggsavier. Charles had laughed and pushed him off, letting their hands linger together.

The next day, Charles moved into another tent, alone.

He hadn't explained it beyond a casual mention that they had a spare now that the Letson twins had gone home after all. He hadn't reacted to Erik's surely visible dismay and hurt, had acted like he didn't hear his stammered questions. He had simply disappeared into the other tent, and not come out since.

"You don't think someone should check on him?" Erik demanded, at the little outdoor kiosk that mostly served as Hank's office.

"He's fine." Hank sounded baffled by Erik's anxiety. "He's keeping in touch," he gestured at his temple, "any time I need him. He just wants a day or two to himself. Heaven knows he's earned it."

"Of course he's earned it, but you don't think it's out of character? He's not the kind of man that just takes a day or two to himself, he's always up to his eyebrows in everything that's going on—"

"What would you know about it?" Hank said irritably. "When have you ever been in his life for more than a month at a time? Leave him alone, Erik. If he wanted you he'd ask for you. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to get done."

Talking to Raven was just as frustrating.

"Let me get this straight," she said, barely looking up from the math tests she was grading, because somehow lessons had to go on. "The man you've nearly killed multiple times, who is putting his neck all the way out trying to get you pardoned by multiple governments for the unforgivable shit you did in fact do, and that we can't prove Apocalypse manipulated you into doing—this guy has made himself somewhat less accessible to you, and you consider that some kind of emergency?"

"He's not 'somewhat less accessible,'" Erik snapped, "he's basically disappeared! He hasn't come out of that tent in three days now, not for anyone or anything. Not for Storm's nightmare, not for Carlo's broken arm, not for a potentially disastrous supply problem with the construction—"

"You make it sound like he's ignoring everyone! We've heard from him whenever we needed to." Telepathically, she meant. And they had, everyone had. Except Erik. Erik hadn't heard a word. "Leave him alone," Raven said, pinning him with a gold-eyed glare. "He'll come out when he's ready. You're the last person in the world who should push him."

She was probably right. But Erik was an old hand at ignoring good advice.

The fourth night, he dreamed that Charles was calling for him, calling for help. When he woke, there was nothing—no psychic echo, nothing—to indicate that it was anything but his own dream. He got out of bed anyway, and slipped through the camp to Charles's tent.

He felt resistance as he approached, a telepathic shield trying to turn him away. But Erik was too accustomed to the feel of Charles's telepathy; he wouldn't say he was immune to it, but he had the ability to question it, counter it. He clenched his teeth and pressed forward, into the tent.

It was silent inside. Erik stood still, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, more complete here than out under the stars. Nothing seemed strange or out of place; the tent held all of Charles's expected belongings, his wheelchair waiting by the bed where Charles lay still and peaceful.

Too peaceful. Too still. Absolutely nothing unexpected. And telepathy was still buzzing at the edges of Erik's mind.

"You're altering my perceptions," Erik said. "Stop it. I don't know what you're hiding, but I'm not leaving until I find out."

"I could make you leave." Charles's voice, his physical voice, hoarse and strained; so the image of him asleep in the bed was definitely an illusion.

"Do it, then," Erik said, and waited.

After a moment, he heard a sigh—half-agonized, half-relieved—and the illusion melted away.

The tent was a shambles, Charles's books and papers randomly piled if they weren't thrown around the floor. The bed was a mess of tangled sheets, Charles sitting up against the headboard with his face flushed and chest heaving, and everything was heavy with the smell of—

"You're an omega," Erik breathed, staggering back against the wall of the tent.

He had never once considered that Charles might be an omega—and wasn't that strange in and of itself? Charles clearly wasn't an alpha like Erik himself, but Erik had always assumed he was a beta; betas were more than twice as common as either alphas or omegas, and his scent had never hinted at anything else. It wasn't as if Erik really cared. His feelings for Charles would have been the same, beta or omega or fellow alpha, and anyone who wanted to argue about it could meet the sharpened point of Erik's favorite paperclip. It didn't matter, but��some deep instinctive alpha part of Erik was thrilled beyond words, was already thinking about things like bonding and scenting and children, they could have children—

"I once hoped that my paralysis might at least mean being spared this," Charles said, panting and dashing sweat irritably from his eyes, "but it only makes it harder to ever—be satisfied."

"You're in heat."

"Yes, thank you, I am an omega in heat," Charles snapped, "do you have any other obvious facts to share with the class?"

"Why did you hide it? You've hidden it all this time—or do the others know?" They'd been so unconcerned with his withdrawal into solitude…

"Only Raven," Charles said. "I keep the rest from suspecting…" He tapped his temple. "As for why I hide it, I think you have enough of a brain to speculate."

"There are certain disadvantages, yes," Erik said slowly, stepping closer almost involuntarily, "but to go to these lengths…?" It had been hundreds of years since omegas were treated as chattel, decades since they faced serious prejudice. One might still encounter the occasional tasteless joke or even raging bigot, but that hardly seemed like enough to make an out-and-proud mutant live a lie.

"These lengths," Charles said bitterly, "ensure that no one tries to take advantage of my heat. No one can abuse what they don't realize exists."

Erik stopped, only a few steps away from the bed now. Charles's scent, sweet and smoky, was intoxicating—but his words had a dampening effect on any desire Erik felt. "Take advantage," he repeated. "Charles, who took advantage of you?"

Charles didn't answer, not aloud, but images flickered in Erik's mind of a stocky, brutish young man with greedy eyes. Erik had never seen him, but if it was who he suspected, Charles had once described that young man as having a mind that had never once thought of anyone but himself, in all his life.

"Your stepbrother," Erik said.

"He was an alpha," Charles whispered. "He knew what I was before I did. Only my powers kept him away—mostly. Usually."

"So you learned your only safety was in hiding." Erik didn't realize he had come closer again until he saw his own fingers trail across Charles's hand. He tried to pull back, but Charles caught his hand, held it tightly. His skin was fever-hot, and Erik's body wanted desperately to answer that fever with his own. He swallowed, forcing himself to stillness.

It was still incredible to him that he'd never known this. He'd shared Charles's bed for weeks, before Cuba—but an omega experienced heat only two to four times a year. Luck, good or ill, had kept Charles out of heat during that time, and during their brief reunion in Paris a decade later. His scent should still have given it away, but Charles was uniquely situated to disguise that, not in physical fact but in everyone's perceptions of it.

"So you've never had anyone," Erik said, "to help you through a heat? No one?"

"No."

"That sounds miserable."

"It is." Charles laughed blackly, writhing half-consciously against the headboard. He was, of course, naked—Erik couldn't imagine his skin tolerating clothing right now—and in a state of arousal intense enough to make Erik wince even as the sight made his mouth go dry. How much could Charles feel, there, now? He knew Charles did have some little sensation in that area, and with the increased sensitivity of heat…

"You're staring," Charles said.

Erik forced his eyes away. "Yes. I'm staring because you're beautiful."

"Beautiful? This is beautiful?" He had never sounded more bitter and broken, not even in the plane on the way to Paris.

"It could be." Erik looked down at their joined hands, where his thumb was stroking the back of Charles's hand, gentle as breath. "You have someone to help you now. If you want me."

"If I want you? You could be anyone right now and I'd want you! You understand that, don't you? Of course I want you, someone, anyone—but I can't trust anyone—"

"I can't do anything to you that you don't want," Erik said, tapping his own temple. "Everything's in your hands, Charles. You can even wipe my memory afterward. You could even wipe my memory right now, send me back to my bed with no idea this conversation ever happened."

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't."

Because you took my hand. It was too delicate to say aloud; Erik knew Charles would hear him regardless. You let me see the truth, and you let me take your hand.

Charles pulled him down and kissed him.

 In the morning, Erik woke sore and exhausted and contented down to his bones, at peace in a way he couldn't remember ever feeling before. The windows in Charles's tent were tied shut, but sunlight peeked around their edges and glowed faintly through the material of the tent itself, giving the space a sepia haze of morning. Charles was breathing slow and even, nestled against Erik's chest. His heat had peaked and broken, sometime during the frantic passion of the night. Charles had been overwhelmed enough to cry with sheer relief. That had never happened before, apparently; he'd always had to endure days of the heat slowly withering and trailing off, unsatisfied.

Thinking of it, Erik couldn't help tightening his arms around Charles and brushing a kiss against the crown of his head. He hated that Charles had suffered so much, so unnecessarily. Hated that he might suffer just as much again, next time, without Erik…

"That's up to you, love," Charles said sleepily, and Erik looked down in surprise.

"What?"

"Whether you're here next time," Charles said. "That's up to you."

"You're not going to wipe my memory and send me away?"

Charles snorted. "I don't think it would work now even if I wanted to. Or haven't you noticed we're bonded?"

"Is that what that is?" He could feel it now, the subliminal hum between them, the way their scents mingled together, the deep rightness of Charles's skin against his. Bonding wasn't the be-all and end-all that the poets tried to paint it as, Erik had known that for years. But… everyone agreed it was nice. If this was what it was, it felt nice.

"Look at that smile," Charles murmured, tracing fingertips over Erik's mouth. "I wasn't sure I'd ever see that smile again."

"You can see it anytime you want," Erik said, and drew him in for another kiss.

[kustas]

i would love to hear about letter bee. worldbuilding is very near and dear to my heart and SO is hearing people talk shit about bad media. CHINHANDS.

Blows you a kiss... We share common interests! Without further ado, the in-depth LB rant. Under a cut, this is going to get long.

For the sake of potential future readers on my blog, I will keep this relatively spoiler-free. Let's start with...

The good:

the art. despite being way uh, "prettier" than what I usually prefer, it's really, REALLY well drawn, technically good and with a lot of style. The backgrounds in particular are gorgeous, drawn with thick black shadows and chunky lines, almost like Mignola's art at times but more delicate

the setting. i am a huge sucker for when fantasy goes full in to make you experience an alien world and here it does.

the plot - while the writing isn't the peak of the series, the way the plot is structured progressively revealing more secrets about how the world works is really fun

The bad:

the writing. while the worldbuilding and some characters are real good, others suffer from being two dimensional and there's parts of the story that are shallow, repetitive or way too boring

treatment of female characters. you don't escape the sexified designs, less presence than the male characters, and while it's not as blatant as in other series they're too objectified for my taste. in classic bad manga fashion some of them being underage makes this worst

while that's a me complaint, there is a contrast in the designs of the side and main characters I find a bit disturbing, the MCs having more classic "anime" faces while the side characters being stylized, have more charm.

The setting:

TLDR: mineral post apoc industrial fantasy in a bug based alien world

A post-industrial revolution society mostly based on European Victorian times on an isolated continent. On this planet, the sun died out, leaving humanity to live in constant darkness, but men built an artificial sun, providing the light and warmth needed to survive. The sun is unfortunately too small to shine it's light on the whole continent, and the outermost regions remained a cold, barren wasteland. Those who can't rely on the sun, humans and nature alike, subsist on geothermy, an important source of which being amber in which are preserved ancient insects with physical properties that make the mineral channel energy. Being a primary ingredient in most high technology, it was mined out in places, leaving them barren. This leaves a world that's a lot of stretches of empty desert peppered with stone towns, where having flowers in your back yard is a luxury.

Under the sun, a rigid class system developed, pushing out the people who couldn't resist to said outer regions, while the richer get to live the closer to the light. The capital of the country, right under it, is inaccessible, and the government tightly controls checkpoints between the three regions of the country, but the pass to cross them is only awarded to government workers. It's a thinly veiled theocracy, and even if many in the outermost regions openly hate the government, there's not been successful uprisings, and they control both the largest food supply on the planet and the supply of the type of firearms you need to fight back hostile insects found in the unpopulated regions, who "feed" on humans in a way that doesn't immediately kill you but leave you in a state where you cannot move or eat so you slowly die out anyway. That and other misc environmental threats like the terrain make travel close to impossible for the common people.

Some of the only ones to travel the country are the postal service, the protagonists of the story - they're assigned a gun and a pass and travel alongside a "backup" companion. They toe a fine line in the public opinion between carrying the communication of the country on their shoulders (this is not a society who's discovered long distance communication yet) and openly working for the government, earning the distrust of many people. The main character befriends one at a young age during a formative moment of his life, turns to completely idolizing him, and signs up to join their ranks the day he can. As a starry eyed kid entering the workforce he's hit by a series of dissapointements about how the world works.

...Also, all energy in this world isn't electricity, it's a world-specific energy that drives both people and machines, mostly based on your memories. It's what'll power your gun and what the insects will eat. If you get caught, you'll forget how to life, if you shoot too much, you'll forget how to live, but by writing down your life, you create and put a bit of it in every page.

The plot is centered around the sun. It hasn't functioned well, always. One day it turned off, but most of the people who saw it with their own eyes forgot everything. The government's been trying to use the scientific knowledge they have to find better energy sources to power it, while a rebel faction tries to take them down.

The dissapointement

I have to preface this saying that this is my opinion and I have NO way of knowing if it's true or not. But I think what killed this series is the shonen format. The worst moments of the series come from fighting scenes - this is simply not a series suited to that, they all have guns so it's boring as hell, and while attempted there's no real progression to the main character's abilities. At it's best is when you find out stuff about the world, either through plotless deliveries in regions you don't know, or through moments of the story that reveal new things about the setting. At it's very, very best, it gets slightly horrific and makes me dearly regret that this is not a full blown collection of fantasy horror stories. But all of this gets pushed asides when it's time to go back to the plot which involves the action. Yahoo -_-

I've read another work by the same author, an abandoned samurai series called Renka, and I love it. The way it's drawn and paced make it without exaggeration one of my most inspiring manga. The fight scenes are short, gnarly, and really, really well drawn. So that's not the issue... The issue is especially trying to force the story into an upbeat, kid friendly epic with large scale combat. When it's about postmen in a desert... I can't help but think than in a better world without the joug of shonen manga publications the author would have written this as exploration fantasy about alien mad science.

If you are curious about it all

Read it. Don't watch the anime. The anime took out everything I found good about the series and did not keep it. The manga's art is worth it.

Chapter 52 is the last one where I remember something interesting happening, you can stop after that. If you get bored because there's fighting, flip until the fight's over, they don't usually have big plot significance, they just feel like filler.

That's about all I that comes to mind right now. Feel free to HMU about specific parts of what I've said or if you have any questions!