#have a brief overview of my books

[c0rpsedemon]

oh yeah. the reason why i decided to reread tbhk (and thus it was able to hit me like a truck this time around) was actually not bc of mitsukou going canon but actually bc i maybe accidentally started a tbhk book club w my kids at work and wanted to check the contents of it justttt in case before i put the books in their hands

[shijiujun]

A Summary: The Spirealm | 致命游戏 (Kaleidoscope of Death 死亡万花筒 Live Action) & Why You Should (Eventually) Watch It

Talk about the most short-lived drama release ever, not even totalling two hours if I recall. Creating this summary as I've seen a handful of confused friends, so here it goes!

It's going to be a long review because I sped through all 78 episodes and only properly watched the first two doors, but I got you. You'll get both the brief book rundown and the drama parts!

If you just wanna see the bromance (LOVE) parts please skip to section 4!!!!

1. Overview

Title: The Spirealm (kinda awful I'm sorry it's a mouthful) or 致命游戏 which means fatal game

Adapted From: Danmei (BL) Kaleidoscope of Death by Xi Zixu

Novel Prints: There are GORGEOUS Thai, Vietnamese, Simplified and Traditional Chinese versions printed, AND Singapore publisher Rosmei has signed the license for the ENGLISH version, probably going on sale this year (preview is here). You can still access fan translations by Taida on I think wordpress and someone else on Tumblr sorry bad memory (they did half and half each) if you'd like to read it for context. It is one of my FAVE danmeis EVER and I am a die-hard OG book fan, check out my full danmei review here.

Total Episodes: 78 (20 minutes each with the exception of last episode which 10 minutes, with several BTS not that I think we will get to see all of them yet)

Where to Watch (LOL): Erm considering that iQIYI China AND International took the episodes down, there is no legal way to watch this, BUT thanks to some cnetz with super fast and great wifi, we managed to get ripped HD versions without subs. iQIYI is very hard on copyright though, they've taken down several subbed and unsubbed versions already on YouTube, but you should type the titles of show into Twitter and the top tags will tell you where to access the raws and very little subbed episodes, that may also be taken down at any point. I have the Chinese raws but as it's hosted on a cloud, I had to pay to access it.

Main Characters: Lin Qiushi & Ruan Nanzhu/Ruan Baijie (in the novel) and Ling Jiushi & Ruan Nanzhu/Ruan Baijie (in the drama)

Produced By: iQIYI so for SURE they won't film it fully BL even if the original is, but I've seen enough bromance cuts

Main Actors: Xia Zhiguang (Ruan Nanzhu/Ruan Baijie) + Huang Junjie (Ling Jiushi)

2. Summary

Book (drama follows closely if not removing the supernatural premises): Lin Qiushi, a designer, opens the door to his home one day from inside and sees 12 iron doors outside. Confused, he opens one of them and arrives at a snow covered village in the mid of winter, and meets Ruan Baijie, who's a pretty, unusually tall and whiny/timid woman. They realise that they're in a horrifying door game, and they'll have to find a door and a key to get out, while battling a long-haired, human-eating deity. They, along with a few others, have to survive day after day until they get out, and on the first night, two people have died in gory ways. Ruan Baijie and Lin Qiushi partner each other, and despite seemingly timid and crying all the time, she saves Lin Qiushi a few times mysteriously, and Lin Qiushi finds himself trusting in Ruan Baijie.

They get through the door together and when they leave successfully, Lin Qiushi realizes that the people who died in the door will die in real life by some freak accident too - car accidents, forced suicides, a robbery gone wrong, a lift trapped in the air and going ablaze, and more. That night, Lin Qiushi wakes up to see a super handsome and tall Ruan Nanzhu at his bedside and this man feels familiar to him, but he can't put a finger on it. All he can think of when Ruan Nanzhu says his name is Ruan Baijie (ahem he would later find out who it is of course). Ruan Nanzhu takes him to his mansion in the suburbs where he meets a group of other people just like them, who're forced to go through the doors for survival. Ruan Nanzhu then invites him to join Obsidian, his organization.

Through various doors, Lin Qiushi grows and supports a super intelligent and powerful Ruan Nanzhu, falls in love with him, gets through many many scary doors with him and some of their other team members, makes friends, loses them to the cruelty of the doors as they ponder over what the door means, and what being alive/dying means.

And at the end of it, at the end of of it all, when they're all good and living their life, Lin Qiushi also finds out what Ruan Nanzhu's secret is, and the lengths to which Ruan Nanzhu went to, just to be with him.

Drama: Ling Jiushi is a VR game designer who gets pulled into a game, and he meets Ruan Baijie (in his male form) right off the bat (SO NOT CROSSDRESSING I AM SAD). All the parts are actually the same as the novel, albeit with the game setting and Ling Jiushi and Ruan Nanzhu's identity adjustments to suit the game premise. Most of the other doors and their lines are the same, just that the ending is a bit more confusing than it could be. There's a big bad as well and they actually show the opposing organizations when in the novel, these other organizations aside from Obsidian didn't even actually have a face or goal to them.

3. Characters

^ Them in the book (based on manhua that never got to go live LOL) (RNZ/RBJ left, LQS right)

^ Them in the show (LJS left, RNZ right)

Ruan Nanzhu/Ruan Baijie: MY HANDSOME CROSSDRESSING INTELLIGENT ALOOF BUT WHINY (WHEN IT COMES TO LIN QIUSHI) SASSY BOSS!!!! He's super mysterious and super thick-skinned too, and all he wants is Lin Qiushi's attention the moment he meets him. He's intrigued by Lin Qiushi's calm and his brains and the way he handles things, and has a lot of trust for him right from the get-go. This is also shown in the drama itself. As the leader of Obsidian, he cares a lot for his team members and his friends even if he doesn't show it most of the time, and the last thing he wants to do is lose Lin Qiushi, and he would do ANYTHING for Lin Qiushi, ANYTHING!!! Just look at him whining:

Ling Jiushi (Lin Qiushi): In the novel he's super calm, has quite a lot of brains, a little bit of a blur in the beginning but he's super smart as well. Worries a lot for Ruan Nanzhu and is also a loyal friend to some of his only friends, and feels a lot when he loses them. Falls gradually in love with Ruan Nanzhu in the novel, like they just belong together. In this drama, Ling Jiushi holds that same trust for Ruan Nanzhu, but in demeanour he seems a bit more like a klutz and and not as cool as he was in the novel, but I guess it's acceptable. Literally like the only thing he loves more than RNZ (maybe) is his cat Chestnut LOL and RNZ is NOT really happy about that but Chestnut LOVES RNZ

Yixie and Qianli: CUTEST TWINS ;-; WHO TREAT RNZ and LQS as their big brothers LOOK AT THEM BOWING AND RNZ/LJS like parents LMAO

A handful of other characters who will keep turning up and get your hearts ;-;

4. ALL FAVE BROMANCE MOMENTS + TROPES

THEY TOUCH EACH OTHER A LOT LIKE HOLDING HANDS AND TOUCHING FACES, PIGGY BACKING?!?! DID I MENTION FACE TOUCHING

WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP THEY HELP EACH OTHER WHEN HURT OR GET HURT FOR EACH OTHER

AND WHEN THEY WAKE UP IN BED THE OTHER IS AT THEIR BEDSIDE

AND DID I MENTION HE FEEDS HIM IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE

AND THAT THEY DATED UNDER THE FIREWORKS LIKE THE NOVEL DOES NOT EVEN HAVE THIS SHIT

AND THE KABEDONS

AND FINALLY RUAN NANZHU RIZZ OMG

5. Settings

They REALLY OUTDID THEMSELVES. THIS JUST FROM DOORS 1-6:

THEY LOOK EXACTLY LIKE THE NOVEL DESCRIBED!!!!

6. Overall Thoughts

PROS: This was NOT a cheap production, I'm telling you, they followed the cases very well and there're a lot of super recognisable lines, if not ALL of them, even if they changed the cases a little. I think they did it because in the novel originally, the author DOES leave a lot of details hanging like someone dies and you know he had a background and there are some shady things happening but the author NEVER actually goes into detail. So the drama did their best to cover these loopholes, even if it felt a little awkward at times. Money went into settings and attires and every damn thing, this looks EXPENSIVE. And if you've ever imagined each door and the bosses inside in your head, you might have felt chills go down your spine because damn did they really colour the book's settings for me (despite its differences). DID I MENTION that Xia Zhiguang really got the damn memo and he was a passable Ruan Nanzhu/Ruan Baijie who knew how to turn on his BL eyes. PLUS they really did some of the character deaths really well - they're technically some of the biggest parts of this story so ;-; (not two main of course)

CONS (maybe): They did away with the supernatural/horror premise and replaced it with a GAME premise, which means that there's a scientific element to it and the try to explain away stuff with the game, including the ending. I don't 100% get the ending, but the feel/vibe is about the same. Might not be for hardcore reader fans tho! They skipped out on a couple of doors, some of which were my faves, but it's fine, it's long enough LOL. They give away/explain some of the clues and surprises super early which means you don't get that added boom at the back as well. Despite that, I have to say they tried to round up the loopholes from the book as much as they could and give it an explanation while tying elements/conspiracies across doors (probably also to save cast fees LOL). And as always it's not a solid ending, it's an open confusing one, and even more confusing than the book itself because THERE IS NO CERTAIN HAPPILY EVER AFTER WITH HUBBY for it (there is in the book tho, they live together happily every after). Secondl,y, I'd say HJJ's acting is a bit stiff and OOC compared to the novel, but Xia Zhiguang really made up for it.

-------

HOPE THIS HELPS YOU GUYS!!! But I guess if you need subs it's going to be a long LONGGGG ride, considering that iQIYI doesn't seem to be going to be able to put it up anytime soon CRIES.

[broomsick]

List of interesting ressources pertaining to norse paganism, scandinavian folklore and history, and nordic religions in general

These are sources I have personally used in the context of my research, and which I've enjoyed and found useful. Please don’t mind if I missed this or that ressource, as for this post, I focused solely on my own preferences when it comes to research. I may add on to this list via reblog if other interesting sources come to my mind after this has been posted. Good luck on your research! And as always, my question box is open if you have any questions pertaining to my experiences and thoughts on paganism.

Mythology

The Viking Spirit: An Introduction to Norse Mythology and Religion

Dictionnary of Northern Mythology

The Prose and Poetic Eddas (online)

Grottasöngr: The Song of Grotti (online)

The Poetic Edda: Stories of the Norse Gods and Heroes

The Wanderer's Hávamál

The Song of Beowulf

Rauðúlfs Þáttr

The Penguin Book of Norse Myths: Gods of the Vikings (Kevin Crossley-Holland's are my favorite retellings)

Myths of the Norsemen From the Eddas and the Sagas (online) A source that's as old as the world, but still very complete and an interesting read.

The Elder Eddas of Saemung Sigfusson

Pocket Hávamál

Myths of the Pagan North: Gods of the Norsemen

Lore of the Vanir: A Brief Overview of the Vanir Gods

Anglo-Saxon and Norse Poems

Gods of the Ancient Northmen

Gods of the Ancient Northmen (online)

Two Icelandic Stories: Hreiðars Þáttr and Orms Þáttr

Two Icelandic Stories: Hreiðars Þáttr and Orms Þáttr (online)

Sagas

Two Sagas of Mythical Heroes: Hervor and Heidrek & Hrólf Kraki and His Champions (compiling the Hervarar saga ok Heiðreks and the Hrólfs saga kraka)

Icelandic Saga Database (website)

The Saga of the Jómsvíkings

The Heimskringla or the Chronicle of the Kings of Norway (online)

Stories and Ballads of the Far Past: Icelandic and Faroese

Heimskringla: History of the Kings of Norway

The Saga of the Volsungs: With the Saga of Ragnar Lothbrok

The Saga of the Volsungs (online) Interesting analysis, but this is another pretty old source.

The Story of the Volsungs (online) Morris and Magnusson translation

The Vinland Sagas

Hákon the Good's Saga (online)

History of religious practices

The Viking Way: Magic and Mind in Late Iron Age Scandinavia

Nordic Religions in the Viking Age

Agricola and Germania Tacitus' account of religion in nordic countries

Myths and Symbols in Pagan Europe: Early Scandinavian and Celtic Religions

Tacitus on Germany (online)

Scandinavia and the Viking Age

Viking Age Iceland

Landnámabók: Book of the Settlement of Iceland (online)

The Age of the Vikings

Gesta Danorum: The Danish History (Books I-IX)

The Sea Wolves: a History of the Vikings

The Viking World

Guta Lag: The Law of the Gotlanders (online)

The Pre-Christian Religions of the North This is a four-volume series I haven't read yet, but that I wish to acquire soon! It's the next research read I have planned.

Old Norse Folklore: Tradition, Innovation, and Performance in Medieval Scandinavia

Children of Ash and Elm: A History of the Vikings

The Penguin Historical Atlas of the Vikings by John Haywood

Landnámabók: Viking Settlers and Their Customs in Iceland

Nordic Tales: Folktales from Norway, Sweden, Finland, Iceland and Denmark For a little literary break from all the serious research! The stories are told in a way that can sometimes get repetitive, but it makes it easier to notice recurring patterns and themes within Scandinavian oral tradition.

Old Norse-Icelandic Literature: A Short Introduction

Saga Form, Oral Prehistory, and the Icelandic Social Context

An Early Meal: A Viking Age Cookbook and Culinary Oddyssey

Runes & Old Norse language

Uppland region runestones and their translations

Viking Language 1: Learn Old Norse, Runes, and Icelandic Sagas and Viking Language 2: The Old Norse Reader

Catalogue of the Manks Crosses with Runic Inscriptions

Old Norse - Old Icelandic: Concise Introduction to the Language of the Sagas

A Companion to Old Norse-Icelandic Literature and Culture

Nordic Runes: Understanding, Casting, and Interpreting the Ancient Viking Oracle 

YouTube channels

Ocean Keltoi

Arith Härger

Old Halfdan

Jackson Crawford

Wolf the Red

Sigurboði Grétarsson

Grimfrost

(Reminder! The channel "The Wisdom of Odin", aka Jacob Toddson, is a known supporter of pseudo scientific theories and of the AFA, a folkist and white-supremacist organization, and he's been known to hold cult-like, dangerous rituals, as well as to use his UPG as truth and to ask for his followers to provide money for his building some kind of "real life viking hall", as supposedly asked to him by Óðinn himself. A source to avoid. But more on that here.)

Websites

The Troth

Norse Mythology for Smart People

Voluspa.org

Icelandic Saga Database

Skaldic Project

Life in Norway This is more of a tourist's ressources, but I find they publish loads of fascinating articles pertaining to Norway's history and its traditions.

[cavegirlpoems]

The Beast & The Church in 'Black Death Rising'

I'm writing a religious horror rpg, in which the End Of Days is in full swing in 15th century Europe. I figured it'd be worth it to talk about that game's religious perspective.

So I'm going to do something inadvisable, and talk about religion from a christian perspective. (religious/setting design ramblings under the cut)

Some context. I'm a quaker; for those less invested in minor christian dissenter sects, I'll give a brief summary. Quakers are a sect going back to the 17th century, with a strong focus on egaletarianism and individual conscience. No clergy or heirarchy, no formalised doctrines, and - historically and currently - a lot of focus on social justice issues. Honesty, equality, pacifism and simplicity as core value. So that's the overview.

This is, you will note, a stark contrast to a lot of what Christianity is currently, and has historically been. Which is to say, quite often on the side of the wealthy, the societally entrenched, and the oppressive.

I am also, as it happens, very openly and obviously queer. As you can imagine, this makes me really quite uncomfortable in a lot of 'christian spaces'.

So. Let's turn our attention to the Book of Revelations, as the various ideas in there are a lot of the game's inspiration. Revelations is written extremely abstractly, with dense metaphorical language rather than a direct accounting of events. There are, needless to say, a wide variety of ways to interpret the text, but I will focus on my own.

A key feature of Revelations is the subversion of religion; the idea of a false prophet turning religion away from its moral/spiritual purpose, and making it a tool for politics, leading to the rise of 'the beast' to power. It's made clear that as the beast seizes power, it goes on to use that power to persecute the outgroup (with whom the text's sympathies lie) and that a church controlled by and reverent of the beast becomes evil and totalitarian, leading to widespread suffering.

The parallels to the state of christianity in the modern day are, to my mind, quite apt. A wide faction - 'conservative christianity' to be polite about it, or christian nationalism to be more blunt - aligns itself with the oppresser over the oppressed, concerns itself with worldly wealth and power, and is actively and openly and inexorably tied to dangerous political forces. That mainstream christianity frequently acts in support of fascism is hard to miss.

There is a particular horror, I think, to seeing representations of one's faith hollowed out and distorted, emptied of their spiritual value and instead becoming a tool for evil. The perversion of what should be sacred has a huge potential for horror.

This is, after all, a particular horror one encounters in a regular basis in the real world. I mean, fuck, one simply needs to see Kenneth Copeland speak for 30 seconds to get a sense of something deeply, deeply wrong.

So, this is the horror the game seeks to capture and accentuate. The sense of what should be holy having been emptied out and used for evil. The twisting of faith to become a tool for fascism.

To this end, the game treats aspects of Revelations quite literally. The Beast is, in fact, the leader of a vast and horrible fascist empire that is the cause of misery on a vast scale. Key to this is the total cooption of the church. The 'pope' is a reanimated corpse issueing proclamations at the Beast's direction, and the church is an engine of propaganda and inquisition that serves to enforce the empire's orthodoxy and stoke hatred against the Empire's outgroups.

This is not to say that faith is absent, but those possessing true spiritual conviction (and with it, in some cases, the ability to perform miracles) are definitively outside the church; actual faith is the domain of religious dissenters and heretics. PC clerics are not members of the church, they're actively persecuted by that church for - essentially - their refusal to spiritually sell out.

(Also, critically, miracles are not the sole domain of christianity; the game treats Jewish and Muslim figures as equally capable of performing miracles, and grants relics associated with those religions equal potency to christian ones; what matters is spiritual conviction, not one's specific denomination).

Other aspects of The Beast's Empire followed from this. Inquisitors and paramilitary agents are common enemies, and the 'seven heads and ten horns' are taken to represent The Beasts inner circle of most powerful servants.

In particular, I've given the Beast's empire it's own form of magic, Defixion, with the name taken from old roman curse-tablets. Defixion is, essentially, the magic of spiritually selling out. In exchange for eroding the user's soul, they become bound to The Beast and his empire; this gives him incredible power over them, but also grants them power based on their position within the Empire's heirarchy. Importantly, it's totally, one-hundred-percent off limits to player characters; playing as the fascists simply exists outside the scope of the game. Instead, Defixion is an explanation for why the Empire's agents have scary monster stat-blocks.

The choice of what to make The Mark Of The Beast was surprisingly easy; it's a cross, the same one that is embraced by fascist groups such as Stormfront.

(This also ties in with the use of the inverted cross as a counter-cultural icon; it's historically been a symbol of humility before God, and in the modern age is associated with strongly anti-church sentiments. In a setting where the church has turned away from God and towards hateful political power, those two meanings can go hand in hand.)

In conclusion: "I know writers who use subtext, and they're all cowards."

[tylermileslockett]

Theseus #3 (Medea and the Poisoned Cup)

After undergoing the customary rites to be cleansed from bloodshed, Theseus arrives in Athens. With a high reputation of his heroic deeds he receives an invitation to the King’s banquet. But only the Queen Medea recognizes Theseus to be the son and heir. Afraid for the legitimacy of her son Medus, she schemes, convincing an elderly King Aegeus that this new guest comes with ill intent. But when Theseus holds aloft his sword to cut his meat, the King recognizes his son, and knocks the poisoned cup from his hand.   Medea, knowing her deception will not go unpunished, flees the banquet, and kingdom with her son.

Here is an opportune time to give a brief overview of the fascinating and complex Medea. Her grandfather was the sun god Helios, and her father was king Aeetes (son of Helios and Perseis, an Oceanid). Despite her divine parentage, Medea is most commonly portrayed as mortal with magical abilities. Medea was a devout follower of Hecate, goddess of magic and necromancy.

Her first introduction is as the princess of Colchis assisting Jason to acquire the golden fleece. The lovers flee Colchis, and with the king’s army in pursuit, Medea and Jason sacrifice her brother Absyrtus. They throw his dismembered body parts into the water, forcing the king to slow and collect his dead son, allowing the argonauts to escape. Many years later having settled in Corinth, the love between the two sours, shown in the play “Medea” by Euripides. When Jason abandons her to marry the princess Glauce, Medea creates a poisoned dress for the new bride which takes the brides life. Most shockingly of all, Medea murders her own two sons in a bloody act of revenge.

Although in Euripides’ play we can empathize with her as a betrayed and lonely outcast, in Theseus’ tale she is shown in a more villainous light, when she breaks the sacred social contract in ancient Greek culture of Xenia (hospitality and protection of the guest by a host). Zeus was the patron god of Xenia, and this cultural value is a major theme in Homer’s Odyssey.

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[antiquitiesandlabyrinths]

I've created a website where I can properly share my analyzations of the ancient sage Ptah-Hotep, and add context for both my words and his. On this website you can find:

Brief descriptions of Kemetic terminology

An in depth look at the ancient Egyptian aspects of the soul

An overview of ancient Egyptian cosmology

The full script of translations from Christian Jacq's book; both the direct translation and the translation rendered to make more sense in English.

The analyzations of Ptah-Hotep's maxims that I have thus far completed

Outside sources for further independent research

I hope you find the information there interesting and enlightening, and that it pushes you to research more about this wonderful culture and religion.

[rei-ismyname]

X-Men: The End - Review

Book 1: Dreamers and Demons

In one of Chris Claremont's many ill-advised returns to the X-books, he set about writing a hypothetical and non-canon end to the series. Set about 15 years in the future, the story travels to every corner of the X universe - if briefly - so if nothing else everyone gets an answer for where their favourite character ends.

Greg Land did the cover. I hate Greg Land.

I praise it mostly on a conceptual level. Pretty much every long running corner of the MU received a 'The End' mini, but Claremont split it up into 3 separate miniseries. Captain America and Iron Man both got 5 issues, KISS (yes, the band) got 3, the X-Men got 18. As someone who always wanted characters to die, grow and retire but was often foiled or undone by fiat - I respect that he'd want to do it properly. However, more is not always better. It's fun, cringe, and nonsensical at times. A LOT of people die unceremoniously. Don't take it too seriously.

The first few pages sets up that that 15 years have seriously passed. People are dead and retired, some have kids that look exactly like them, the never aging kids grew up. The Shi'Ar are killing X-Men, like a lot of them, except they're doing it in disguise. Jean Grey has returned as the Phoenix and is hanging out with (kidnapped him while he was doing Letterman lol) Nightcrawler, Carol Danvers' hologram, and Aliyah - the child of Bishop and Deathbird.

Here she is going for an expository jog down memory lane.

We spend a little time getting to know her, as she's the closest thing to a viewpoint character. She's inexperienced and way out of her depth, but her heroic instincts are sharp. Interestingly she 'doesn't really care about the Shi'Ar.' Aliyah lives on the Starjammer with a pretty impressive holodeck, she's never met her dad, her mum is holding the Shi'Ar empire together and her best mate is holo Danvers. Lilandra is apparently 'mad.'

Immediately Kree slavers approach Chandilar and Claremont begins clearing the board. Madrox and Siryn die for real, Nocturne is a hound and Aliyah manages to knock her out and take her to the ship. Phoenix comes out of nowhere and begins wrecking shit and the Kree do the same.

Also, WarSkrulls.

If it sounds like confusing nonsense, that's because it is. The first third of the miniseries is about establishing Aliyah and checking in on various X-Men before killing most of them. Seriously, it's easier for me to list who lives rather than who dies. It's confusing but I think it works as front loading the deaths so books 2 and 3 have a more manageable cast of characters. If you plan to stick the landing, it's going to be easier to trim the decades of bloat/worldbuilding the X-books have received.

We get a brief overview of Earth stuff before they start to die, though everyone in these panels lives (mostly hehe). Kitty Pryde is running for president with Rachel as her campaign manager! Storm and Logan live together and he's her full time caretaker. Emma and Scott have two kids. Cable hunts terrorists apparently.

Here's the Summerses. A lot of people wear speed dealer sunnies in the future, with Cyclops even saying SPEED right there. Coincidence? Also their children are boring.

You'll note the daughter may as well be a clone of Emma (she isn't but you know what I mean.) The baby is called Alex after long dead Havok, definitely tempting fate there. I'd sooner call my child Omega Red, but I'm not a parent. Chuck pokes his big bald head in and Emma tells him to beat it. Scott checks in with folks all over the globe, many of whom die. He is concerned of course.

Told you. Rogue and Gambit live and they definitely saw The Matrix. This isn't plot relevant - this is just how they roll apparently.

Hank and Cecilia McCoy live and they do *something* in Africa. Doctor stuff I think? This book moves so damn quickly. They live but everyone around them dies. Hank is right about the mutant problem. The named X-Men body count is at 18 by book 3.

Hey Yukio! Come to homoerotically kill Ororo, huh? DW, she wins despite full paralysis. Don't fuck with Storm. At this point we find out ALL these assassins are WarSkrulls sent by the Shi'Ar. Storm's powers have wrecked her body btw to the point Logan feeds her and she kinda wants to die. 😭

Madeline Pryor, Stryfe, and some weirdo I don't know come for the X-Mansion. Dust dusts Maddie Pryor. That dude getting punched by Not!Stryfe is the son of Colossus and Polaris. Yeah he looks exactly like Colossus. Nice to get confirmation of Polaris' awful taste in men. She does have a dope butch short hair look that slaps, so it's not all bad choices and emotionally stunted communists.

Nearly everyone else not pictured is dead as a doornail, ash and bone at best. Claremont was pretty damn thorough - 90% of the X-Men and their allies dead. Apocalypse bit the dust too, in a pretty embarrassing way. Of course Sinister lives because he's working with the Shi'Ar but has his own agenda, as usual. They're starting to realise that the Shi'Ar sent the WarSkrulls, but the preemptive strikes were super effective. Book 1 ends on the Starjammer with the passengers realising Cassandra Nova has been Lilandra all this time.

I'm sorry, CHUCKY sends me. No cap. I could write an essay on this panel and invite speculation.

The last page has the Xavier Institute's singularity power core exploding after that lot end up also being WarSkrulls sent by the Shi'Ar - looks like having the school be built mostly from Shi'Ar tech backfired. The school is definitely gone - along with at least the state of New York but I suspect much more - then a smash cut to this masterpiece. Callisto with fucking tentacles for arms saying 'Chucky?' as Chuck is overwhelmed by grief. I'm assuming they're in a polycule with Mags over here, but it must gall him to be the third most dramatic person in a scene. It's just too much to respond without some kind of levity, but if it wasn't clear by now - the stage is being cleared ruthlessly. Northstar was at the school, so maybe some people survived but Claremont is not half arsing it. This is definitely a whole arse situation, maybe even more.

DUN DUN DUN 🫠

Wait what? Chuck's evil twin, the Mummudrai? Hectic! So we know we've just seen Cassandra Nova send many WarSkrull strike teams after X-Men in the form of people that will hurt them psychologically and it was very successful. Hmm... it's 15 years in the future - does that mean she's been leading Bird Gang this whole time? No Xandra in this timeline but the X-Men interact with the Shi'Ar a lot. That's some wild patience for Cassandra Nova, and the notion that she's been preparing all this time is terrifying. My God, all the X-Men are going to die aren't they? Maybe, though I can't stop thinking about how Lilandra Nova would have handled a booty call from Chucky. Ughh gross.

I think it's worth saying that the high amount of action is a YMMV sitch - I personally can do without no punching at all in a book, and get frustrated when a mandated and arbitrary fight happens just because that's what cape comics do. Just because action has to be special to wow me doesn't mean I don't recognise its value, mainly I believe we can demand more from our comics - as an evolved art form instead of the pulp it began as. What I said earlier about front loading the death applies to the action too. I suspect your enjoyment of this book will come down to your feelings on action or ability to appreciate it ironically/unseriously.

I'll leave part one there, though I want to point out that Sunspot is whitewashed so badly he looks like Shawn Mullins. At least he dies - I love Bobby Da Costa but I'd prefer no Sunspot to dorky white guy Sunspot. Stay tuned for part 2 and thank fuck that's over. Spinning a coherent narrative from a book without one is a challenge, especially with only 10 pictures to work with. I considered counting and listing all the deaths, but I got to 30 and realised I wasn't enjoying it and doubted anyone else would. I'm not a wiki, and hopefully I've done my job while leaving some meat on the bones for folks who still want to read it. Don't worry, Kitty's presidential run is still live and it's implied she won the primaries. Independent? As if. Definitely a democrat, because the X-Men are mostly centrist bitches. Still, I hope she wins and First Lady Rachel and her achieve something.

I haven't been doing much long form lately so I welcome any feedback you might have. 💜💜❤️

[1-have-no-idea]

Tutor me,

Character(s): Wrecker, reader, mentions of Dogma, mentions of Hunter, brief interaction with Obi Wan

Genre: Crack kinda, fluff

Overview: You’ve always been good at English, but some others just don’t… get it. Wrecker was ‘others’. And, you don’t want him to have to repeat a grade! So why not tutor him while keeping him focused with food?

Warning(s): reader is referred to as ‘little tooka’ and ‘doe eyes’, like, one mention of drool, but other than that, none

977 words

First meet with Wrecker!

————————————————————

A tired sigh escaped your lips as you placed your pencil down. You just finished your essay in your English class. Huffing slightly, you got up and grabbed your paper, walking up to the teachers desk and gently laying them down. “Here you go. I finished,” you whispered as the others worked. You were the first person done. As always. Well, actually, that’s not true, sometimes Dogma finished first, but it was mostly you. The teacher, Obi Wan, skimmed over your paper, before clicking his tongue, a small laugh escaping him. “I asked for an essay, Name, not an entire story,” he scolded playfully, making you laugh a little under your breath, shrugging your shoulders humbly.

“It’s not that much, Mr. Kenobi,” you responded, grinning at him, before heading back to your seat, but before you could step away, Obi Wan called you back, whispering as if it were a secret. “Name,” he called out softly, making you turn around with a raised brow, taking a few steps back to his desk with a quizzical look. “Yeah?” You replied. The English teacher leaned forward slightly, eyeing someone in the back, before looking at you again. “You’re a great writer, and are excelling in this class,” he stated, making you smile at him bashfully, before he continued. “But there are some, who… well, just don’t get it, we’ll say,” he muttered, sighing. “So, if you could do a favor for me, may you tutor Wrecker for me, please?” He asked, making you blink in surprise, turning around to look at the bulking jock who looked as if he were constipated while tapping his pencil on his paper. There were no words. Just a small sketch of a bomb, little doodles of what you thought were tooka’s, and a small smear of something. Oh, ew, was that drool-? You immediately averted your eyes, grimacing slightly. Yeah. You understood now.

“He currently has an F in this class and I’m afraid if it continues on in this class, he’ll have to repeat next year,” he explained, making you gasp, before nodding. Well you didn’t know it was that bad! “Yeah, sure! Of course, I will.” You agreed, giving a look of approval to him. Obi Wan grinned, rather pleased by your answer. “Thank you, you’re doing both me and him a big favor.” He said, laughing as he sent you back.

—————————————————————————

After class ended, you went to go approach the football player who was currently shoving all his books in his bag, huffing and mumbling something about how English sucked. You cleared your throat, hands wringing together.

“Wrecker, do you wanna meet up after school today?” You offered, making the larger man stare at you blankly, before a wide grin spread on his face. “Ah! Doe eyes!” He exclaimed, standing up at his full height, making you back up a little so you didn’t press up against him. “I remember you! From when you and my bro Hunter wrestled! Yer strong for bein’ such a teeny thing-“ he remarked, laughing brashly.

“What’d ya wanna do after school again?” He asked, bending down to your height. You blushed at how he had to kneel in front of you to actually be your size, but you didn’t comment. You cleared your throat again, smiling at him. “I don’t know if Mr. Kenobi told you yet, but I’m going to be your tutor for English. So I was wondering if you’d wanna meet up with me after school to work on it? We can go to my cafe, it’ll be closed, but I can make you a drink and give you a snack and we can work,” you offered, grinning at him. Wrecker gasped, eyes widening, before pulling you into a bone crushing hug, making you grunt from the impact. “Now that’s my love language! Ya got yerself a date, lil’ lady! Me an’ you after school, I’ll meet ya!” He shouted, ruffling your hair, before running out. You sputtered, eyes wide at his outburst, before blushing a little at his words. “Ah- it- it’s not a date- but, y’know what, it’s fine, you’re already gone-“ you mumbled to yourself, laughing slightly. Then, you heard a man clear his throat, your eyes averting over to his. Obi Wan looked at you with a smirk. “Good luck, Name. He’s got a big personality, that’s for sure.” He teased, making you sigh and shake your head playfully.

—————————————————————————

“Heya, lil’ tooka! M’here for our date!” Wrecker yelled, throwing off his backpack and flopping down onto one of the cushiony booths. He heard a small yelp, and then saw you come in with a smile. “Ah, Wreck’! I’m glad you made it! Make yourself comfortable, you can look at the menu, I’ll go grab our stuff!” You said cheerily, and Wrecker sent you a grin.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he muttered under his breath, before looking at the menu. Soon, when you returned, he immediately pointed to the picture of a sugary-looking mock tail, and a large chocolate donut with colorful sprinkles. “Can I get this?” He asked, looking up at the worker with puppy eyes. You chuckled, before nodding. “Yeah, I’ll go get it,” you said, leaving. Momentarily, you came back with the colorful drink and the donut, handing it to him.

“Here you go.” You said, making Wrecker whoop in happiness. Finally, the time to learn was upon the two of you now. “Okay, we’ll start small,” you started, fighting back a smile as he stuffed his face like he was starved. “Today, we’re gonna learn how to use nouns, verbs-“

“What are those?”

You went quiet. You looked at him with wide eyes.

“I- what?”

“Wha’s a noun? An’ verb?” You let out a small, ‘oh,’ and sighed, pulling out your paper and pencil. This was going to be a loooong tutoring session.

[evidence-based-activism]

(Brief) Historical Pornography

Context for this post.

So, the claim that "pornography has been around forever and therefore it's okay" is erroneous in two ways:

(1) Just because something has been around forever doesn't mean it's good. (Imagine if it were mainstream to defend slavery or child murder on the grounds that it's always existed.)

(2) The pornography that exists now is not the same as the pornography that existed 1,000 (or even 100) years ago. Putting aside the depictions of violence, a video or picture of a real women is not the same as a painting on a cave wall or poem about sex. It's likely both help perpetuate misogyny (videoed pornography definitely does and it's likely at least some drawn pornography also has this effect*), but modern pornography inherently involves the abuse and exploitation of women.

(*Realistically, it is possible that drawn/written pornography may only have this effect under certain circumstances (e.g., when it's violent, when the consumer is a child, etc.). That is, the relationship may be closer to that of mass media, which I've discussed in the past. We'd probably need a drastically different sociopolitical landscape and internet infrastructure before we could reliably obtain results on this topic (i.e., because of the current saturation of mainstream pornography in society).)

A few quick sources (see my #sex industry tag for many more):

FightTheNewDrug has a good overview on how modern pornography is different today than in the past [1]

This Reuters article describes how non-consensual pornography has been found on OnlyFans, with little legal repercussion [2]

This Justice Department press release documents Pornhub's involvement with human sex trafficking [3]

This USAToday news article discusses a woman's work to expose and combat sex trafficking in pornography including Pornhub (she also wrote a book!) [4]

---

All of this is to say: modern day mainstream porn has not existed forever and, even if it did, that doesn't make it okay.

But by all means, print out some cave paintings and read the Song of Songs. (I expect you already know the difference.)

References below the cut:

Fight the New Drug. (2024). The problem with saying that porn has always existed. Web Archive. https://web.archive.org/web/20240816180559/https://fightthenewdrug.org/the-problem-with-saying-that-porn-has-always-existed/

Reuters. (2024). OnlyFans and sex: Legal cases. Web Archive. https://web.archive.org/web/20240816180623/https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/onlyfans-sex-legal-cases/

U.S. Attorney’s Office for the Eastern District of New York. (2024). Pornhub parent company admits to receiving proceeds from sex trafficking and agrees to three-year probation. Web Archive. https://web.archive.org/web/20240816180737/https://www.justice.gov/usao-edny/pr/pornhub-parent-company-admits-receiving-proceeds-sex-trafficking-and-agrees-three-year

Mickelwait, L. (2024). Pornhub videos and sex trafficking: A call to action. USA Today. Web Archive. https://web.archive.org/web/20240816180708/https://www.usatoday.com/story/opinion/columnist/2024/07/28/pornhub-videos-sex-trafficking-laila-mickelwait/74532636007/

[kanerallels]

bestie!! Can you tell me about your book, Land of Tales? I may have just stalked the tag for a solid forty minutes and I’m dying to know more (I LOVE me some good fairytale retellings)

BESTIE I LOVE YOU FOR SENDING ME THIS ASK I'm so so honored?? Thank you so much!! (also same we love fairy tale retellings they're amazing)

OKAY SO! I'm gonna give you a brief overview of the book in case you didn't see what it's about, then I'll do some fun facts because I deserve it as a treat and I'm hyperfixating on my own book series right now (and also Valiant. Minor detail. LET'S MOVE ON)

The main plot: My girl Rebecca Wood lives on Earth, but never knew her parents. She discovers at the beginning of the book that she, and the family she never knew, is from the fairy tale world, and so she goes there with the help of this socially awkward cinnamon roll, Liam. We love Liam, and we feel bad about the amount of Horrors I put him through, including but not limited to social interactions and torture

The rest of the book is basically Rebecca and Liam's travels through Avena (fairy tale world) meeting fairy tale characters and evading the evil Empress Goldilocks (who has magic plants and fairy tale princesses for assassins). And there are more books. Or there will be. Four overall in the main series, two prequels, umm... *pauses to count* okay yeah there are a lot of stories post canon. And I've already written a handful of short stories for fun and profit!

And now it's fun facts about some of the characters time:

Cinderella is, as mentioned, an assassin! She has fabulous fashion taste, glass shoes that can morph into any shoe type she wants, and is incredibly sadistic. Her husband Gavin is what would happen if Jean-Ralphio Saperstein, Schimdt from New Girl, and Oscar from The Rookie were fused into one incredibly vain, lazy person who wore a lot of capes

Jack from Jack and the Beanstalk is a pirate (occasionally of the sky). He's married to a future seer who basically tricked him into taking her hostage the first time they met, and has two kids. They are utter gremlins and we love them

Alec and Risha, who I've been talking about lately, are from Camelot. Risha's dad is Sir Gareth, aka Gawain's cool brother. In my series, the people of Camelot have Australian accents because why not?

OH MY GOSH I JUST THOUGHT OF A CHARACTER I HAVEN'T TALKED ABOUT ON HERE okay his name is Bob. It's short for uhhhhhhhhhhhh I'm gonna be straight with y'all I don't remember his full name. It's really long. But he's the Magic Mirror from Snow White! He's a cursed prince who likes shipping his best friend with her love interest, and boba tea (if it exists in this universe. I shall ponder this) and he's just a little chaos gremlin and I would die for him

Somehow, every single ship in this series is enemies to lovers (except Alec and Risha, slow burn friends to idiots in love my beloved) and it's really funny to me. They're all different flavors of enemies to lovers, too. We've got "coworkers who annoy the crap out of each other to lovers", "I tried to kill your friends that one time and am involved in the organization that killed your brother but now we're working together and technically I'm engaged but it's a engagement of convenience and we're connecting to lovers", and one of my personal favorites, "you forced me to take you hostage that one time and now I'm stuck with you which is really annoying to lovers". There are, believe it or not, others

One more fun fact for the road: I have a book planned that's set after the series, and it's a combination of no less than three fairy tales at once. Possibly more, for all I know

Oh, and actually last of all! The first book in the series, which I shall not reveal the title of just yet because DRAMA, is finished! All polished up and shiny, and I'm currently looking into publishing options and cover artists! (also my girl a.spice is doing illustrations I can't wait for you guys to see them they're incredible)

[yourpenpaldee]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ A BRIEF WIPS OVERVIEW.

Hello! I am not good with deadlines, especially when I set them myself. This post was supposed to be up three days ago, but it’s finally here! I’m very excited to share these projects as they were all created from different periods of my life, going back four years at the most.

These will be very short intros, but each WIP mentioned here will have a proper, detailed post when it’s time. The projects also aren’t listed in sequential order of when I’ll post about them with the exception of the first WIP.

A heads-up, most of these are romance since I used to write only romance. It was only about two years ago since I decided to finally branch out, and those stories will be coming soon! For now, I still have to figure out how to write characters that have a way higher IQ than I do…

On we go to the WIPs!

WHEN ART TALKS

— currently undergoing the first draft. — first person — a college romance where a reserved poet who is afraid of public perception connects with an outspoken musician due to their preference on using words as their art medium. — contains late night walk convos, cigarette smoking, passionate rambles, and microwaved meals. — “‘Why do we care about them when it’s our story to tell? We live our truth, we speak our truth, and we have to trust that it’s good enough because it’s all we got. The message will be received by those who are meant to hear it.’”

BLIND SECOND CHANCES

— currently undergoing the first draft. — dual first person — an adult romance in which ex-friends turned (unofficial) ex-lovers from high school decide to explore the old feelings that resurface when crossing paths eight years later. — lots of reminiscing, betrayal, weekly wine nights, and fancy dates. — “‘You’re holding onto a love from a situation where we didn’t even know our place in the world yet. We spent nearly eight years growing into the people we are now, so you need to be prepared for our dynamic to look and feel different because we aren’t the same kids we once were.’”

TO NEW BEGINNINGS

— brainstorming complete, drafting to begin soon. — third person, still deciding on the type — an adult romance story of a woman who decides it’s time to start over on a blank canvas, and meets a booked and busy workaholic along the way. — roller skating, painting, solo adventures, and plant shopping. — “‘It’s scary to deviate from your current life and start anew when your life no longer serves you or your purpose. But I’m not equipped for misery, so I’ll be damned trying to save a life that lost the chance of saving forever ago.’”

UNTITLED ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE

— currently a 3am one-liner, brainstorming begins soon — pov to be determined, leaning towards third person limited. — an apocalyptic fiction where a teenage girl fights everyday to survive in an ongoing zombie apocalypse with hopes of finding her younger sister. — found family, zombie slaying, survival vs. morality, and, uh… death. — “She looked at every colorless home she walked by and wondered what stories could be told. What every stored memory that slipped through the cracks consisted of and the emotions they’d provoke. If the lives that once occupied these spaces were unfortunately fortunate enough to make it out like she did. If they constantly watched the memories flash before their eyes as they realized those would be the last batch of joyful, painless memories; how remembering became torturous and insufferable, but is all they have to remind them of their own humanity.”

UNTITLED TWISTED BONNIE & CLYDE

— currently a 3am one-liner, brainstorming begins soon — first person peripheral or third person limited — a dark and twisted romance where two toxic lovers are at the beginning of an inevitable end and play fire with fire the entire way through. — manipulation, heists, lies, and expensive jewelry. — “The venom drips off of every word she says. She watches every last drop seep into my skin and become one with the blood that runs through my veins. How it attempts to shut down my body in hopes that I’ll beg for mercy in my final moments of weakness. That I’ll surrender my life into her hands as those soulless and apathetic eyes beam with some sick and twisted excitement. But I am sick and twisted too. We are two bodies wrapped in the same snake skin, and a snake cannot get poisoned by its own venom.”

PAST LIFE LOVER

— redoing the brainstorm process — first person or objective third person (quote will be in third person) — a soulmate, young adult romance in which a girl who no longer believes in love suddenly gets pulled in by the new barista at her favorite hangout spot. — love at first sight, breakfast deliveries, denial, and baking. lots of baking. — “Then there it was. The locking of the eyes where the inability to look away grows more and more intense with each passing second. They didn’t even know each other, but something in their eyes told them that there was a home waiting for them within each other’s souls.”

ANGEL AND KEN*

— currently on the backburner, brainstorming resumes once past life lover is complete. — prequel to past life lover. — *very much a temporary title — first person or objective third person — a 50’s historical romance where a pessimistic single mother is convinced to see the greener side of the grass by a jazz musician who looks at life through a rose-colored lens. — jazz clubs, slow dancing, tea parties, and red corvettes — “‘Why shut yourself out from the world when there are people like me that have waited for you to waltz right into their life? I know, the modern day world is frightening and filled with so much hatred that it’s hard to find happiness through it all. But people find a purpose to wake up every morning because of that one person that casts the brightest light. You’re my sun in a world full of darkness, and I hope to be the moon that reflects your light when you’re no longer visible in the sky.’”

I know I keep saying it, but I truly can’t wait to properly share these projects. I just hope everyone will enjoy reading it all and find comfort within these characters :)

I will post the the detailed summary for When Art Talks either on Monday or Tuesday (please yell at me if i don’t follow through omg), and the character intros should follow closely behind!

divider creds to strangergraphics ♡

[perplexingluciddreams]

A “brief” overview of my communication journey:

My verbal communication was always limited to echolalia and scripts (by scripts, I mean pieces of different echolalia that I stuck together to create a new phrase, or longer several-sentence delayed echolalia. But I didn’t learn to do this until I was at least 9 years old). I also had very limited control over what my mouth said - I would regularly hear my mouth say something I completely disagreed with, then had to watch in panic and confusion as the people around me reacted as if it was something I actually thought.

I used to request things that I didn't even want. "I want..." statements were banned in my house because they were "rude". “I want never gets!” I had stuck as a script for the longest time, even involuntarily saying it when other children said an “I want…” phrase.

I was given examples of how to request things by my parents. I used "I would like...", "Can I have... please", etc. But this didn't give me a reliable way to ask for what I wanted - I could only ask for things I had a script for. So I was limited to a handful of foods and objects that as I grew older, I had less and less interest in.

Saying "please" and "thank you" was drilled into me so much that I would often say it at the end of other unrelated scripts because it got "stuck" there by my mouth, without my permission. I got laughed at for this a lot.

I would say "yes" when I meant no, I couldn't reject things because I didn't have a script for saying "no". And I had been told to be polite so many times that it was a concrete rule in my mind - breaking a rule was worse than anything else. Saying "no" was rude, according to the adults around me - if another child said "no" to something, they were told off by a teacher or their parent. I didn't understand tone of voice so I thought it was the thing they were saying that was wrong.

As I got older, and became more aware that other people seemed to have more control over their voices and could say what they wanted (my general awareness of people and my surroundings definitely played into my struggles with communication, but I won’t elaborate on that here) I would sometimes sit in my bedroom and attempt to read aloud from a book, or write a sentence and read it aloud. To my confusion and upset, it would come out garbled with sounds mixed up, words missing, sometimes no sound coming out of my mouth at all. I couldn't make intelligible speech with my own words AT ALL.

I managed to teach myself to manually make some sounds, mostly vowel sounds, by moving my tongue around whilst making sounds with my vocal cords. But clearly this was not enough for using spontaneous speech as communication. Not to mention, any time I even considered trying to get my OWN words out (with speech, writing - even drawing pictures, signs), all words and scripts I knew just disappeared from my mind.

The only time I could even slightly get my emotions out was through movement - I used to throw myself backwards onto my bed repeatedly, bang my head with my hand, pull my hair, spin around in circles. I now know these would be called "stimming", but at the time I used it more for expressing myself. I also had other repetitive movements that I did almost constantly without even realising what I was doing, but I considered the expressive movement to be a different thing entirely at the time.

It took me years to get my own words out, and that was only once I managed to break down (spoken AND written, and both connected) language into individual words and learn the meanings, then learn to build it back up again. (And, this could only happen after I’d lost most of my out-of-control scripted speech. AAC with symbols helped me break down language in this way, because each word has a separate button and I was forced to learn to form sentences without an already-there structure to fall back on).

In order to do this, first I must take the long string of noises, and break it down into words. Then I must take those words and process the meaning of them individually. The biggest challenge, and the thing that takes the most time, is building the sentence back up.

Words often change meaning when they're strung together, and this is the part where that meaning tends to disintegrate into nothing, for me.

I have to build an abstract "picture" of what the words mean in my head. With very complex language, or a lot of language at once, this can take me hours, days, or even weeks.

Written language is a lot easier to process - firstly, the "string of noises" part is completely eliminated from the equation. Secondly, I see written words as entire shapes. Shapes, symbols or signs connect much more strongly to their meaning, in my head.

I learned to write by hand before I could type, because writing by hand is just copying the shape of a word. I hadn't yet learned to break down a word into it's individual characters and sequence them in the right order, not to mention finding the letters on the keyboard. My spelling has always been fantastic because of my tactile memory for words - and I say tactile instead of visual, because I don't "see" anything in my head, but the shapes of words are something solid that I feel I can touch, hold, grab on to.

But typing was a completely different thing, because even though I could recognise and read words in a typed print, it took longer for me to understand how to put letters together in the correct order to create words using a keyboard. The motor plan for typing was much more difficult for me to learn, but now I have that skill it's invaluable to me in terms of communication.

It took me a little while longer to realise that a keyboard gave me the opportunity to use my own words from my own mind, rather than whatever my mouth (or brain, when writing - I had different written scripts than verbal scripts, though, usually from books) happened to blurt out without my control.

I learned to read very early, but my understanding of language was actually quite poor - separately I could recognise the definition of one word, but when many words are put together I didn't understand the meaning of that sentence or paragraph.

The feeling of being able to put my own thoughts into written words like this, and read them back, is such a rush of power. I can have a concrete, physical impact on the world now that I can use a keyboard and get all the things in my head out there. It becomes real as soon as it's outside of me.

I remember that "comprehension" (answering questions on a written passage - we learned to answer the questions in a certain way, with a “blueprint”) in school really helped me with the breaking down of sentences and rephrasing them. Even though at the time, it just felt like it added to my out-of-control scripted speech, it gave me a skill that has been incredibly useful to me in the long term.

Getting to this point, where I can express myself fluently and eloquently through written language, took so much time and work, and still takes all my energy to write something as long as this. I am so grateful for the genuine communication I have now. It took many sessions, over months, to write this in its entirety. I wrote it in separate chunks, all trying to express similar things, then fitted them together and altered some sentences to make it flow better. (Of course with lots of editing to fix my grammar and my tendency to repeat the same sentence structure over and over - I still use my “blueprints” while writing, it’s the only way I can form complex long sentences like this one).

In order to communicate a memory or past experience in words, I had to have been actively translating (or attempting to translate) my abstract thoughts into language at the time.

If I wasn't or couldn't do this at the time it was happening, those experiences, thoughts, emotions, etc. are almost impossible to describe in language now.

And translating my brain takes so much energy and effort, and relies on me being able to understand what is happening and what I'm thinking and feeling. I more often than not don't comprehend my own mind - if this is the case, then of course I can't explain it to someone else.

It still takes so much time, effort and energy to get my thoughts out like this, and I’m very proud of the progress I’ve made. Even just learning to use Tumblr and posting on here as regularly as I can manage (plus reading other people’s words about similar experiences, or even very different experiences), has increased my ability to express myself and the vocabulary I’m able to access.

[b-blushes]

did i ever talk about the a4 planner notebooks i designed and had made on here? 👀 (they all have blank covers which i decorate with stickers each month)

blank inside cover (this is my may/june planner which i started decorating yesterday, so there's a thank you note from my raahatillustration order in there), all the printed pages are printed on square paper! next page is a 2024 and 2025 calendar (minimum print quantity was 10 books, so i designed each book to cover 2 months and had 12 printed, for 2 years supply!), followed by a blank grid for future log of the 2 months that come after the ones in the current notebook).

page for trackers! i use the left hand page to write the things i'm tracking (sideways in the top box, so a column of boxes is assigned to each activity/task), then colour in the boxes corresponding to the date and each activity/thing each day. also doubles as a migraine log (colour in the box containing the date when i have a migraine), and the blank column is so i can colour in a mood tracker. the right hand page is for making a record of what i'm reading and watching (genre, start date, end date, title and author if applicable). lots of extra space for decorating or notes if i want to.

monthly page! (2 per book). the left is for a monthly overview that is heavily decorated/all the things i'm doing are written in (no completed version to show bc i have too much personal info in my completed ones to redact. sad bc they turn out very cute!!!). the space underneath that is where i stick in a copy of the playlist i'm listening to that month/any decorations i want to add. the boxes at the bottom have 31 spaces, so on the left of that i write down 4 physical therapy things i track to fill in each day. on the right hand page is where i write a little brief list of things that will be nice the following day, then the grids at the bottom are for me to shade in 'the degree to which i went outside', and a 'big picture' idea of the weather.

weekly spread! (10 per book). how i keep on top of the day! for vertical planning, with a running list-ish style chores log on the top left corner, and a blank setup on the top left corner of the right page for things i want to achieve across the week but that i can't assign to a specific day yet (or take place over multiple days). lots of room for me to stick in photos, a column for notes, and a gap at the base of the page for me to track other things. i colour code each month so it's easier for me to keep track of where i am in time, so a strip of washi tape goes along the bottom 3 rows of squares, and then above that i'm left with 3 more rows of squares - in the 'notes' column i pick 3 things to track, and then draw a line across the column for each day of the week when i do that activity/task in the corresponding row. for example:

weekly horizontal spread (10 per book). this is for my daily reflections, i write down things like my step count for keeping track of health stuff/energy expenditure, when i got up/any time i had to lay down, a bullet point summary of all the activities i did that day, times i made a decision that was, like, good for me, things like that!

blank squared pages (7 per book) and inside back cover for miscellaneous uses. i've used them for far for garden planning diagrams and collages, sticking in notes and ephemera, and collecting odds and ends of stationery. i usually stick an envelope that i've made inside the back cover so i can stuff a bunch of papers in there as i accumulate them (receipts, tags from clothes, order delivery notes, etc), for example:

tada! really happy with how these turned out, very good investment of the money i would have put into buying a hobonichi each year for example, which is simply too small for my needs!

[kabukiaku]

me rambling to why I had to say this below the cut.

TL; DR: my webcomic has discontinued. for those who have no idea what I'm talking about, it's okay, that's past lore you missed out on.

As you have noticed, I've stopped updating my webcomic. A while back in April, I started to realize that I wasn't sure where I was taking my story. I had written down an overview. But I did not do any proper planning ahead. No first draft, no thumbnailing the entire comic, nada.

And that---led me to a creative block. I knew this was detrimental to my comic series. As I kept focusing on other stuff, commissions, art, life, the drive to work on newer pages only dwindled.

I am no professional comic book artist. If I had given myself the time, to pre-plan EVERYTHING from beginning to end, I wouldn't have been struggling to know where to take my story.

It really does seem unfair since I had something going, or so I thought I did. From you, the readers, who enjoyed every update I put out. But in truth, I was honestly working against the clock. Again, not planning so far ahead. It's only fair that I shed the truth here, to what's really going on behind the curtain. As you can clearly see, I have moved on, picked up new interests. I've even picked up on older ocs, (vampire family!) in which I honestly feel like I would've had an easier time making comics for.

So, dear readers who have been following this comic for it's brief time running, thank you all for your kind comments, your support, and attention. I don't know if I want to keep up the website, as it will be charging me to keep the domain + premium features from Wix. I don't find it convenient to be charged for something you're not using. As my income relies on my art/shop sales.

I'll still have the pages, they are saved on my laptop. Perhaps one day, not today, not this month, I will have this comic back up and running. Thanks again.

[soopsiesdaisies]

i mean, technically, (y)our marriage is saved - 8

Chapter summary:

Feyre has Emotions and hates them. And Rhys sure has a mouth on him… sure has…

Read on AO3 + Tumblr Chapters Overview

General warnings: Rhys' mouth, 9k

~*~

We took refuge from the harsh morning sunlight in the library soon after finishing up breakfast. The sprawling chamber with built-in bookcases at least thrice my height laid on the other side of the palace, with the large, open windows that characterised the building’s architecture facing the west. As it was early still, the horizon was painted a dark blue; Rhys had flicked his fingers after we entered and put up a myriad of tiny, flickering stars to offer additional lighting. One floated near each of our faces, bathing the papers and books in a silvery glow. 

Though I’d expected to fall back into the familiar, trusted bickering that Rhys and I had cultivated during our brief altercations the previous week, Mor’s presence ensured that we both remained relatively amicable with one another. My temper was tempered, and Rhys’ ferocious appetite for being as annoying as he possibly could be to coax reactions out of me was relaxed. How she did it, I wasn’t sure. Perhaps Mor’s general air was just strong and cheery enough to cut through my irritation like a knife through butter. Perhaps she just urged Rhys to be less of a prick by way of existing in the general vicinity of him. Whatever it was, I found myself less snarky; Rhys held his tongue and reworded whatever he drivel he emitted more often than not. Both helped immensely to keep the atmosphere somewhat pleasant.

My progress in reading, writing, and mind-shielding was the subject of our discussion. As Rhys could check the latter at any time, we’d inevitably latched onto my swiftly improving literacy: Mor, at least, seemed utterly delighted at how well I was doing. 

“It’s like you did nothing but practise,” she said cheerily, shoving the marked paper my way. I had to write the words Rhys and her dictated down and had made an almost negligible amount of mistakes. “Were your weeks in Spring that boring?” 

Not boring, per se—but I wasn’t going to tell them that. “I just found myself with a surplus of free time.” 

“Well, it paid off.” Mor grinned at me. “Leaps and bounds, Feyre. Really.” 

“Yes,” Rhys drawled. “Remarkable. I’d imagined you’d have been far too busy accepting your fiancé’s enthusiastic welcome to occupy yourself with writing lines.”

“Imagined me accepting an enthusiastic welcome often, did you?” I shot back, tone frosty. Rhys sat back with a smirk, though he did seem a touch flustered. “But no. I just had nothing better to do.”

“Nothing?” Rhys asked, at the same time that Mor said, “Ah.”

“Why on earth wouldn’t you be busy with other things?” Rhys continued, before Mor could say anything else. He ignored the sharp look she sent him with ease. “I would’ve thought you’d be swamped with doing all kinds of Lady things.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like,” he flapped a hand, “managing the household, picking out dresses, having tea parties, starting up embroidery. Those things. Ladies do those, don’t they?” 

“You sound like someone we both despise,” Mor muttered. He shoved her chair and she stuck her tongue out at him. “Just saying…”

I punched out a sigh through my nose, mouth tight and shoulders pulled up to my ears, it felt like. “Yeah, no.” 

“No?” 

“No,” I confirmed, and then I said, before I could calculate whether it was a good idea to tell them, “the wedding’s off indefinitely, so I’d wager I won’t become the Lady of Spring any time soon.” 

Mor’s mouth fell open. Rhys, for his part, didn’t show more shock than a small jump of his eyebrows. 

“I’ve decided it’s best to wait until we’ve both healed,” I said stiffly, “before we make any hasty and relatively permanent decisions like marriage.” 

“Ah,” Mor repeated. When I looked her way, her face was tight but, I thought, vaguely approving. “I understand.” 

She reached over and patted my wrist, and I pressed my mouth into a thin line and nodded. Rhys chewed absently on his lip and refrained from doing much of anything but stare at me—I personally refused to look at him directly. To an almost irrational degree, I felt frightened that he might be able to see what had occurred prior to my refusal to marry Tamlin. I didn’t know how he’d react, what he’d think; though I suspected he’d be angry for me, I had a nagging, anxious suspicion that he’d think I’d pushed Tamlin too far too soon. 

“My life so far is just a small blip for the rest of my immortality, as someone kindly reminded me,” I said regardless. “And I fear that if we were to marry now—”

I halted. Too much. Too much information. They didn’t need to know about the ins and outs of my relationship with Tamlin, all the grievances and frustrations that came with it. My intermittent coldness towards him. The bouts of apathy and compulsion for cruelty I’d feel when he was near. 

If anything, Rhys, upon realising I’d been unhappy lately, would find a loophole to keep me here. That seemed just like the kind of thing he’d do. 

“Yes?” Mor prompted. 

I cleared my throat and played with the edge of the marked sheet. “He’s a choice. We’re not—fated. I don’t want to forget that.” 

Right after I said it I bit down on my cheeks so hard that my mouth flooded with something wet and warm that had to be blood. It was odd—faerie blood didn’t taste like slightly salted copper. It tasted sweet and cloying. More like lead. 

My hands clenched and unclenched repetitively. 

None of us said anything for a moment, though Mor seemed to be searching for words. Rhys didn’t; he just stared at me with those star-flecked eyes of his, almost calculating but with a hint of vulnerability. 

He’d caused it. The revelation he’d admitted to, the gift the cauldron had offered us and he’d deemed proper to share in a drunken stupor, had made me realise I had a choice. I didn’t need to be with Tamlin just like I didn’t need to be with Rhys. 

It was like he’d yanked the wool off my eyes. 

“You know,” Mor said then, “I once—was engaged to be married.” 

I stared at her. 

“After I’d bled for the first time and my powers awakened, I was to be married off to a male I didn’t know well and into a family that would treat me as a broodmare.” Mor didn’t smile, didn’t soften. “My virginity was the highest asset in this. And because I wanted to have a choice, I lost it to a male who would become a friend.” 

I knew virginity was important in the human world. I didn’t realise it was here as well, within the faerie realms of Prythian; it seemed like such a small, dismissible thing in comparison to immortality. 

“The reaction was violent,” she said. “Rhys and his family, of course, weren’t happy about the political implications, but they all understood why I did it. My family, however,” and then she swallowed, the only tell of her discomfort, “was so furious that they tortured me when they found out. I was dumped into the Court of my betrothed with a note nailed to my stomach that I was his problem from that point onwards. A—another friend rescued me and brought me to Rhys, where he and his family nursed me back to health and allowed me to stay if I so wished.” 

“Who was your fiancé?” I asked in a whisper. 

“Eris Vanserra,” she said. “You probably saw him in that bitch’ Court. He’s the firstborn.” 

Eris. I’d seen him, yes; only shared the smallest resemblance with Lucien, but that may have been because of their hair colour alone. He was the one who’d snarled at me when I told Amarantha my name. 

My warning to Nesta before Tamlin took me away rang through my head in a dizzying echo. His father beats his wife and the sons do nothing to stop it. The Lady of Autumn seemed regal but drawn; I would’ve assumed that that came from being imprisoned under the mountain, had I not known that Beron was a horrific piece of work. 

“Good that you got away and avoided… what could’ve happened,” I said. 

“Yes.” Mor’s smile was tentative and brief. “We always have a choice, Feyre. Even when it doesn’t look like we do.” 

We continued our work after that. Rhys hadn’t spoken up to add anything to Mor’s story, nor did he pipe up with additional information afterwards. The only thing he did was go back to helping me work through difficult words with many syllables, much like Mor did as well. He did seem a bit more subdued somehow, however—like something had left him reeling. 

They coaxed me through my stumbling over difficult and long words before slowly and carefully moving on to intertextuality and the effects of word choice. I knew much of it already — I was an adult, after all, and was rather fluent in our language — but the underlying meaning woven into sentences and their structures was quite different from regular speaking language. Rhys explained how words and phrasing could affect the meaning of a text or speech, used to strengthen or weaken arguments; Mor explained the more exact examples of it, like rhetorical questions and unreliable narrators, metaphors and motifs. 

Knowing these, recognising these, was key to navigating the world of the Courts, Rhys told me. Faeries spoke in riddles and the courtly fae even more so, for their entire life was bathed in political games—I needed to be able to move past them in order to survive, or they’d eat me alive. 

“Of course,” he said, “I wouldn’t mind eating you, if you catch my drift.” 

I threw a balled-up piece of paper at his head, nailing him between the eyebrows. As he spluttered — for show, I suspected; he would’ve been able to mist it if he so wished — and Mor giggled obnoxiously, I demanded we just continue with my lesson.

As was par for the course for Rhys, he wrote down ridiculous sentences for me to read out loud before I was tasked with copying it down and explaining the word choice. Mor let him do so if only because I did a lot of eye-rolling and sighing as I completed my little tasks and continued to throw little balls of paper at his stupidly perfect face. Rhysand is in possession of a wingspan that pales all others, Rhysand will sweep you off your feet without warning, Rhysand shan’t hold back and will break Tamlin’s nose the next time that welp puts his paws anywhere near Rhysand’s person, et cetera; I could tell the self-centred nature of the sentences originated largely from his mission to annoy me as much as humanly — well, faely — possible, but that didn’t make me any less annoyed. 

If I was being honest, it was brainless work: simplicity woven with increasing difficulty in an attempt to keep me on my toes. It’s why I didn’t feel my brain make a connection until I’d copied half of the sentence ‘Rhysand shall obliterate all the pathetic enemies he will come across on the immortal battlefields spread across Prythian’—a realisation that felt so sudden I nearly broke my pen. 

“Tamlin doesn’t believe there will be a war, by the way.” 

There was an elongated beat of silence before either of the cousins blinked. 

“What,” said Mor, without any inflection. 

“I suggested I would start training,” I said, “but Tamlin vetoed it, as he believes it’ll put a target on my back and there won’t be a war for me to fight in anyway.” 

To my horror, my tone was irritable. The idea that Tamlin thought he could order me around like I was his subject, like he had any right to tell me what to do, did still annoy me. It was actually so immensely frustrating that I still saw red when I thought about it for too long. 

“I thought him being allowed to remove the masquerade mask Amarantha cursed him to wear would have made him less blind,” Rhys said sharply, “but it appears I was wrong.” 

“Rhys,” Mor chided, but it didn’t have a lot of heart behind it. “He genuinely doesn’t believe war will come, Feyre?” 

“I thought he did,” I said honestly. “He’s been pacing the perimeter of the house and often gets called out to the border. There’s been an increase in sentries too. But I think—the danger he’s seeing is in his head.” 

Mor’s stare was hard, calculating, and appallingly neutral. For a moment I felt laid bare, like she could see right down to my bones, to what I hid there and refused to say. I shifted and looked away. 

“Feyre,” she said slowly, “when you said you had time to study—”

“I had time to study,” I intoned. 

“Right.” Mor paused. “But did you have time because—”

“Mor,” Rhys snapped. 

“I’m worried,” Mor cried instantly, turning to face her cousin. “Can’t I be worried? Feyre is one of the first friends I’ve made in centuries and I want to make sure she’s—”

“She can tell you whether she is on her own time,” said Rhys, sparing me a brief, apologetic glance, “not during a round of questioning she’s not comfortable with.” 

“Like you haven’t done the exact same thing,” Mor replied. “I know you, Rhys, and I can tell when you’re brooding…”

“I’ve never brooded a day in all five hundred and thirty-six years of my life—”

“By the Gods, you’re old,” I blurted, “that’s like, twenty-one human generations.” 

Silence fell almost instantly. Against my better judgement I sank a touch the moment both immortal gazes fell upon me, fiddling with my pen. And then, after what felt like an age of tension-riddled quiet, Mor burst into loud, witch-like cackles. 

“Well,” said Rhys, tone about as dry as high land during a drought, “I can confirm you’ve managed to land a solid kick against the royal plums of my ego, Feyre, darling. Thank you.”

Mor collapsed onto the table. “Old—”

“It’s true, though,” I defended weakly. “Humans can barely reach eighty years before they die of old age—sometimes a hundred, if they’re lucky and have good teeth. Rhys, you were born when humans still practised the old religion en masse.” 

“Twenty-one generations—” Mor hiccupped. 

“Tarquin, Summer’s High Lord, is eighty,” Rhys said, “and he’s like a teenager. I’m quite certain he hasn’t even started growing pubic hair yet.” 

“How the hell would you know that?” 

“OLD!” Mor yelled, face having turned red. “Rhys—Rhys, you’re geriatric…”

“Frame of reference,” Rhys said, before he told Mor in a tight voice, “you are a year older than me, Morrigan.” 

Mor sobered within seconds and bared her teeth. I turned my lips inward and bit down on them to keep from smiling or, worse, gaping. 

“It’s impolite to reveal a lady’s age,” she snapped.  

Rhys grinned. “It’s a good thing you’re not a lady then, but a horrific harpy instead—”

He flattened himself on the table in the next moment, so quickly it would’ve been a blur for human eyes, as Mor went to whack him with a rolled up sheet of paper. What happened next was just as swift: Rhys twisted, reached up, and grabbed Mor’s wrist to prevent further whacking. Mor retaliated by bringing her leg up and kicking so hard at his chair he went sprawling with a yelped curse. 

I pressed both of my hands against my mouth, but it did very little to muffle the snort that escaped me. And as Rhys climbed back upright, frazzled, head popping up from under the table with his mouth open like a fish, the chuckles that fled my mouth could no longer be corralled and brought back. My hands fell, and I was smiling, and Rhys’ expression became laced with wonder. 

Mor snickered along in merriment, though I barely registered it. The sudden burst of laughter, a kind of mind-blowing amusement that flooded all throughout my body, was as unnerving as it was relieving; I couldn’t genuinely remember the last time I’d laughed, let alone at others. I thought my time under the mountain and my brief death had sucked that ability out of me. 

But it was here now. I shook with the force of it, the twinge in my cheeks and the pressure on my stomach stark reminders of how long it’d been. 

“I’m—I’m sorry,” I stuttered, gasping, and I felt a spark of panic at how difficult it was to stop and calm down. “I haven’t—I—”

“Don’t say sorry,” Rhys said quietly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile before.” 

He hadn’t. I’d never smiled in front of him, at least—as far as I could remember, though perhaps my nights drugged with faerie wine had urged me to. But maybe he’d thought it wasn’t real then. Ingenuine. 

As sudden as the unignorable amusement had been, it got replaced by something heavier and more painful, and the tears of joy morphed, very suddenly, in tears of grief. 

“Oh, fuck,” I choked out, and the amazed expressions on the faeries’ faces made place for concern. I took a shuddering breath. “Sorry, sorry, I—”

“It’s okay,” Mor whispered. She was beside me in a blink, hands hovering before resting loosely atop mine. “It’s… been a while, hasn’t it?”

I nodded, staring resolutely at the blurred table. Tears dripped from my lashes at a frankly impressive pace, some falling on my lap but most trailing down my cheeks to my jaw, then down my neck and collarbones to be absorbed by the collar of my tunic. Every breath stuttered on both the inhale and the exhale; I couldn’t close my mouth, lest my bottom lip trembled so much it would fall open anyway. 

“This is ridiculous,” I breathed, choking on a sob. “I was just—laughing, it’s not—”

“The first time I laughed after I was tortured, I had a panic attack,” Mor said gently. “When Rhys came back after you freed him…” she paused, head twisting to look at him, before she swallowed, “—and he laughed at something one of our friends said, he threw up so violently he spat blood. It’s… normal, and understandable, to be shocked when you do something you haven’t done in a while. And it’s normal—”

I sobbed louder. Mor tucked some hair behind my ear and squeezed my hand. And then Rhys said, hoarse and quiet yet perfectly audible:

“It’s normal to grieve the person you were, and what you could do.” 

I jerked and looked at him. His jaw was tight, eyes intense, brow low. 

“We’re made up out of our experiences. Those experiences all change us, just slightly. What you went through…” he swallowed, “…is more than enough to change someone nearly beyond recognition. But when you get a sliver of your old self back it’s a shock to your system.” 

I bit down on my cheeks again, so hard my mouth flooded once more with my sweet, cloying faerie blood. 

“Don’t apologise for something you can’t help, Feyre,” Mor said firmly. “Don’t ever.” 

“Especially not,” Rhys added in a murmur, “when it’s a step towards helping you breathe.” 

~*~

It was safe to say the lesson didn’t continue after that. 

It could’ve. Rhys called for tea as I was making significant progress in calming myself down with the help of Mor, and after the teapot had been emptied, the only evidence of my sudden tears were my swollen eyes, the itching tear tracks, and that wrung-out kind of exhaustion that only followed a bout of intense emotion. 

I asked to go to my room, however, for a bath and a nap. The cousins acquiesced. Mor said that I could ask for her whenever I was ready, and she’d be there; Rhys merely guided me to my room with a steadying hand between my shoulder blades and nodded as I entered, disappearing into a far less extravagant swirl of shadow than usual. 

I could call for him whenever I wanted, I knew. He’d come. I figured it was the bond that tethered him to me so much that he couldn’t ignore my requests, which didn’t do much more than make me feel miserable—especially now that Mor had hammered down on the concept of choice so much. 

Perhaps it was different for male faeries. Or perhaps it was because the bond hadn’t snapped for me yet — I figured the word ‘snapped’ felt like a literal snap somewhere in your chest, rather than the mild, dismissible pull I usually felt around him — that I was able to ignore him, but as it had snapped for him he couldn’t ignore me. 

I was too tired to commend him for his self-control though, even to myself, and simply slunk into the bathroom to soak for a while, undoing my braid before slipping out of my clothes. The water, as always, was the perfect temperature; I shivered at the feeling. After a few seconds of letting the heat wash over me, my body relaxed carefully, in increments, lessening the ache that accompanied loosening back. 

I groaned and sunk under, scrubbed at my face to rid myself of the tears, then went back up for a breath. Poured soap into my hand and scrubbed at my hair. It smelled like bergamot and cedar this time, warm and soothing. 

Confusion and warring emotions were a constant in the Night Court, I decided. In Spring, my emotions had recently been limited to anger, sadness, numbness, and terror, but Night only made me feel confused with the comfort it brought me. And yes, of course I felt annoyance, strong and firm; I felt anger and frustration; I felt that bone-deep longing for something I wasn’t sure of as keenly as I usually did. 

But my moping was different. My emotions felt heightened, less subdued. I had a feeling I could rage as much as I wished and nobody would judge me for it. I could hurl shoes and pieces of paper at its High Lord’s head and all he would do was laugh, rather than yell. 

And, Gods—I’d called Rhys old to his face and in front of the overseer of the Court of Nightmares, and all that happened was a sulk and a cackle. I’d burst into tears and there was no panic from them. I could probably tell Rhysand I found him unappealing, and scary, and oblivious as to understanding me… and he’d probably just grin tightly, jest a little before nodding, before moving on. 

It’s like a part of me knew for certain, doubtless in its confidence, that if I asked Rhys to be better, to improve—he would do it without whining. He’d work on himself. He would give me the results I wanted to see. 

It was terrifying. 

It felt like a betrayal of the highest calibre. 

I rinsed my hair and climbed out of the bath, exhausted but head whirring. I didn’t want to think and compare and do all those things that made me feel like a horrible person, but it’s like I couldn’t stop it—the way Mor, as a friend of Rhys’, pushed back and ridiculed him at every available opportunity, but how Lucien bit his tongue more often than not, disinclined to trigger the beast that lurked below Tamlin’s skin. 

I was still dripping water as I rummaged through the armoire — my dress was still in there — for underwear and a comfortable nightshirt. When I pulled both on, the fabric darkened where the droplets still stuck to my skin; my back felt sticky where the ends of my hair dribbled moisture. 

Then I crawled into the bed, that massive, fluffy nest of a bed, kicked off a variety of decorative pillows, and curled beneath the duvet. Closed my eyes. Gripped at the pillow. Buried my nose into the fabric and inhaled the scent of the detergent, cold mountain air. 

My eyes were leaking again. I gritted my teeth against it, wanting to scream; because why was I sad, now? Why did I need to cry? 

It was fine. Everything was fine. The Spring Court was stifling and though I’d anticipated the Night Court to be worse, it was not. Nobody pressured me to act like everything was okay. Nobody told me I didn’t need to do anything because I’d already done so much. Nobody said I couldn’t leave the palace because it was unsafe to do so. I could wander wherever I wished without encountering even a single faerie; no sentries at my back, no expectations to dress a certain way.

The day was still so long, so bright. My eyelids were orange. But I burrowed deeper into the blankets and drifted away, stomach coiled into a knotted mass of writhing serpents. 

~*~

The most quizzical thing happened then, because I woke up that evening and could barely move.

It was a momentous struggle to climb out of bed and dress myself into something more appropriate for dinner; every single step I had to take up to the large, open space felt heavy and laborious, like I was walking through syrup. I could barely pay attention to Rhys’ and Mor’s light-hearted bickering during dinner either, too focused on making sure I chewed and swallowed—and I had to beg off Mor’s offer to have a glass of wine and some cheese as dessert, because I was so tired I felt like I’d fall where I stood. 

Sleeping that night didn’t help me, even with the peace and calm that the moonstone palace emanated. My energy remained low, as if sapped. The apathy was lingering on the edges of my consciousness, ready to take over. And most tellingly, I completely stopped rising to Rhys’ taunts. 

It worried him. It worried Mor too, because I ceased to react the way I’d had to her too. It was plain on their faces. I couldn’t tell them that my guilt for—for feeling relief here, that it ate away at my ability to act like myself, so drained that I could barely lift my hands to wash myself, could barely climb out of bed, could barely dress myself. I could read though, and write, even if the lessons didn’t truly register; my wall of adamant remained firm in spite of my exhaustion. 

No matter what those two threw at me — Mor’s gentle kindnesses and Rhys’ teasing flirtations, their shared banter in attempts to make me smile, the outrageously absurd sentences Rhys had me write — I was almost too weak to even speak. 

On the second day, I didn’t join them for breakfast. On the third, I only joined them for dinner. The fourth, I ceased leaving my room at all; and though they visited, together at first and then alone, I remained in the solitude of my bedroom. 

I slept a lot, of course. Better than in Spring. The architecture of the palace gave me comfort unlike anything I’d ever felt—so open, so wide; the scent of jasmine that permeated every room, the scent of snow on the breeze fluttering past the gossamer curtains, the endless sights of mountains and sky. My nightmares were easier to struggle out of, and the aftershocks had lessened in intensity. I actually slept. I slept, and I ate, and I kept things down. I breathed in fresh air and read in the sunlight and took baths that lasted hours. 

But I was still exhausted beyond belief. It shocked me, frustrated me, in spite of the apathy that had taken up residence inside of my chest. The sedentary and lonely hours prompted a discomfort that I could only equate to terrible nerves: my muscles were always a little bit tense, my heart always felt a bit constricted, and my stomach was always tight. As was my chest, for I felt some subtle kind of additional guilt whenever I hid myself away again. 

I read a lot, now. Folktales and history, and one book on mates that’d snagged my attention and I was slowly parsing through. Then, on the fifth day, or sixth, I hadn’t been counting—but at the tail-end of the week, I exited the bathroom to find Rhys on my bed once more. 

“Hi,” I greeted, and I turned to dress myself, but mainly not to see the disappointment flitting over his face at my lack of reaction. 

“I thought we could just relax today,” he said. “Mor has business in Hewn City to take care of, so we could just read. Or do other things, with this new privacy she’s so kindly afforded us.”

His tone was teasing, sounded like an insistence—play with me, come on, do it. But I just shrugged, tugging on my underwear under my towel before letting it drop.

I could hear him swallow.

Not paying him any mind, I slipped into small bodice and a sweater, then some loose, billowing trousers I remembered seeing Mor in before. The clothing, at least—getting out of the clothes I slept in helped me stay awake during the day, rather than just letting myself rot. 

I turned, blindly twisting my hair into a knot resting at the back of my head. Rhys sat staring up at me like I was some sort of apparition. 

“So you want to just sit and read?” I asked. 

He blinked, shrugged. “Like you’ve been doing anything else? Do you want to paint instead, Feyre?” 

My mouth flattened. “You’re not funny.”

“I never claimed to be,” he replied. “I’ve just been taking note of your hobbies.” 

“My hobbies,” I repeated flatly. 

“Yes, your hobbies.” He rose to his full height in one smooth moved, stuffing his hands in his pockets and sauntering closer. “The ones you’ve been so diligently performing here. Reading, sitting, sulking…”

My jaw clenched. 

“You can’t be bothered to climb a set of stairs, so you take all your meals here,” he said. “You can’t be bothered to talk to anyone, so you don’t leave this room. All you do, I’m assuming, is sit, stare out of windows, and read. Why can’t I join you in such ambitious endeavours? Hard work is always better done together.” 

His voice dripped with a mixture of vitriol and teasing. He was grasping at straws to get me to react to him the way he wanted me to. 

“Sure,” I said, tonelessly. “Okay.”

Rhys’ chin tilted up, eyes slightly wider than usual. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” I repeated, brushing past him to pick up the book I’d been working my way through. “Go ahead. Do whatever you wish.” 

He stood frozen, even when I made my way to the room’s balcony to take a seat on one of the chairs there. It was a good place to zone out and stew, I’d found. Much better than under the cover of the building. 

It took a few seconds, but eventually Rhys stalked out into the sunlight to join me. 

“You’re not even going to protest?” 

I didn’t look up from the book, despite the fact that the words on the page didn’t even register. “Should I?” 

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, you should. You ought to—I don’t know, complain that I’ve entered your room without your permission? Tell me to fuck off, maybe? Call me a prick with a bloated ego the size of Prythian?” 

“How dare you enter my room without my permission,” I intoned. “Fuck off, Rhys. You’re a prick with an ego about as big as Prythian itself.” 

Rhys snapped his teeth in frustration. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” 

“Sounded like it.”

“No,” he snapped. “No, it’s—Cauldron, Feyre, this is the problem. You laugh once and shut down? Did it shock you thatmuch? Don’t you ever laugh in Spring?” 

“What’s the Spring Court got to do with it?” I asked, heart kicking up in speed. I squeezed the book tight. “I just don’t want to do things, Rhys.”

“Like smile?” he retorted, barking out a sharp, mean laugh. “Like talk to people who care?” 

I squeezed the book harder. 

“I—Mor and I waited for you,” he said. “Every single morning, we wait for you until Nuala or Cerridwen announces you won’t be joining us. Then we wait for you to join us for lunch. Then for dinner. Feyre,” he said, insistent, “you can go anywhere you’d like in my Court, but you’ve just been staying holed up in your room—”

“I thought I was only supposed to learn how to read, write, and shield my mind,” I said quietly. 

The sound of chair legs screeching across stone told me he’d collapsed in one of the chairs. “That doesn’t mean it’s all you need to do.” 

I chewed on my lip, nostrils flared and staring resolutely, unseeingly, at the book. The upper edge of my nails had gone a pale yellow with pressure. 

“Is that it?” Rhys asked, tone awfully close to begging. “Do I need to take you somewhere? To a—to a town? Or the woods? To a peak of one of the mountains, or an Illyrian encampment, or a frozen lake?” 

I sighed harshly through my nose. “Why do you care what I want, Rhys?” 

He froze in my peripheral vision. I lifted my head, looked at him: his eyes were wide and bright, jaw tense and jutted slightly forward. Did I have him there? His frustration with my indifference had to be nothing more than the mating bond rearing its head—it was in the book I was reading, that a mated faerie felt an almost impossibly strong urge to protect and cherish. Though it was about a mutually accepted bond, I figured it wasn’t that different.

“It’s not just the bond,” he said. “Feyre, I—”

“Get out of my head,” I bit out.

“I’m not.” Rhys bared his teeth and looked away. “I just know that damned book.” 

Oh. Without bothering to mark the page, I snapped it shut. 

“So what’s it then?” I asked. “Pity for the once-human? Afraid your little toy has broken beyond repair?”

He laughed without humour, a quick, hiccupping expulsion of breath. “I just like you.” 

I felt my mouth pull into a scowl. 

“You glowered at me, and sneered, and glared,” he said. “You were scared of me but you taunted me despite it. You threw the bone that killed the Wyrm at Amarantha and walked away, even with your arm broken, even while covered head to toe in excrement and mud. You were a fox in a Court of wolves and won—”

“So I was just intriguing, then,” I concluded, oddly disappointed. I wanted to accuse him of masochism but didn’t have the energy to. “A fun little jester—”

“You reminded me of my friends.” 

My mouth closed. 

“You reminded me of Mor, and Azriel, and Cassian, and Amren,” he told me, voice hard and slowly rising in volume. He didn’t seem to have realised that I had no idea who three of those people were. “You ensnared the Middengard Wyrm like a fucking rabbit, you flipped me off, and I could see people I hadn’t seen in nearly fifty years, whose voices I’d almost forgotten, who I tucked away to protect—I could see them, standing right alongside you, throwing that bone. I like you, Feyre, as a human and as a faerie, and—”

“You liked the idea of me,” I said, mouth dry. “I’m not the idea, Rhys. I’m the whole person. And I’m not the girl I was who went under that mountain—”

“You’re being smothered,” he hissed. “Can’t you see it? The human you were, the faerie you are—by… by just letting time pass, by refusing to let yourself breathe, you’re allowing her to win.” 

The fire inside of me was cold. Freezing.

“I’ve done enough,” I breathed, though it didn’t feel true. “I’ve died.” 

“And you were granted life,” he said. “You were Made. You’re immortal—you can do anything you fucking wish, but decide to waste the days away sitting idle?” 

I stood. “I don’t need to hear this.” 

“Yes you fucking do.” Rhys stood too, footsteps announcing he was following me inside. “Do you want to give up? Feel nothing? Do nothing? Tell me you do, truthfully, and I’ll leave you alone.” 

I breathed. My grip on the book was so tight the hardcover edges were cutting into my palms. I felt cold all over. 

“I want to do nothing,” I said.

He laughed again. “That’s a lie.”

And I didn’t know what happened exactly, but all I remembered later was a surge of emotion, high and hot and cold, and me whirling around to launch the book at his awful, beautiful, infuriating face. 

He caught it, hissed, and peeled his fingers off the cover with a grimace. “Ice. Winter Court. Good job, Feyre darling.” 

“Leave,” I murmured, eyes wide. “Get out of my room.”

“No,” he replied, arching a brow. “No, I don’t think I will. Not when we’re finally having a riveting conversation again.”

“It’s one-sided,” I said, taking a few steps back. 

His smile was fanged. “You’re still replying to me.” 

“I’ve been trying to shut you down.” 

“Doing a bang-on job at that, my love,” he crooned. “Not feeling very ‘shut down’ here, actually. No, I think you do want to talk to me, but you simply think you don’t.” 

My heart was stuttering, and I briefly thought he’d gone mad with resisting the pull—or I was dreaming. And if I was dreaming, then I was lucky it wasn’t a nightmare, because it meant I was in control here. 

Wasn’t I?

“Just get out,” I whispered. “Just listen to me for once—”

“I’ve always listened,” he said. “I keep listening to you. Every emotion, every want, every fucking thought you allow to filter through your shield—I watch, and I listen. Did you know your nightmares still reach me?” 

My breath caught. 

“I can see them, I can feel them…” he snarled at nothing in particular, “so much so, so vibrantly, that I can’t tell whether it’s your nightmare or mine. Of course I fucking listen—”

“You took me away from my wedding against my will,” I whispered. 

“You asked,” he hissed. “You demanded it. You said no, three times, and you stepped back so I came and took you so I had an excuse to be there!” 

“You still took me,” I continued stubbornly, like I hadn’t been insurmountably thankful for it in the days after. “You took me when I didn’t want to go. And before—before, you twisted my broken arm to get me to agree to the bargain, you dressed me up in a dress that was more like a cobweb, you drugged me—”

“I twisted your arm,” he said heatedly, “to set the open fracture. You recall the bone was sticking out of your arm, don’t you? And the dress, the faerie wine… I explained why, because Amarantha would have simply killed you if she figured out you were more to me than just a human toy, and I was terrified the debauchery of the revels would break—if you saw what she made me do—”

“You could’ve explained it,” I snapped, anger, familiar and hot and sudden, sparking through my veins. “You could’ve been nice! You could’ve—could’ve grabbed me a day before the wedding, or a month, not as I was about to walk down the aisle!”

“Cauldron, Feyre,” he groaned, “you’re saying it as if I didn’t do you a damned favour—”

“I can’t exactly see you jumping at the chance to ‘save’ me as a favour.” My voice dripped with derision. “Weren’t you waiting for it? You said so, didn’t you? You may have tried to ignore it, but you still listened…”

Rhys stared at me, chest heaving, and he laughed incredulously for a third time. Threw out his hands, shook his head.

“All of Prythian was aware of the wedding,” he said. “Everyone—even those in—High Lord Tamlin of the Spring Court and Feyre Cursebreaker, saviours of the High Lords,” he spat, “united at long last; love that conquers all. And all I could think about was the inevitable happiness and pleasure that I’d feel because you’d feel it. I was prepared to numb myself into incoherency just for the chance I would only remember the barest hints of it the next day.”

I set my jaw and tried to glower, because I shouldn’t care. His happiness was not my responsibility. But he advanced, face dark and eyes bright, like smouldering purple coals in the remains of a hearth fire, and I forced myself to stumble back, back, back—pressed myself against the door so as to not meet him halfway. 

“Imagine my surprise,” he said quietly, “when I, having gone through fucking bottle of liquor already, barely able to stand upright, didn’t feel happiness or joy, didn’t feel pleasure, but earth-shattering terror instead.”

“The rose petals frightened me,” I replied, cursing myself when my voice didn’t come out even, but instead breathless and shaking. “I was remembering blood—”

“Yes,” said Rhys, “blood. You were getting married in the court of thorns and roses but you can’t even stand the sight of the colour red. Can’t look at a rose, can’t prick yourself on a torn. I’d wake up most nights to the feeling of you hurling your guts out after a harrowing dream of pure terror that would leave me fucking paralysed, and I couldn’t even pinpoint whether someone managed to comfort you from the horror and the pain. 

“And then I took you, and you were angry, and I thought—” he blinked rapidly, scowled, “—I thought, thank the Cauldron she’s still feeling things. Thank the Cauldron she can still be angry with me, or furious, or just frustrated. That she can talk back and slap back if she deems it necessary. Because I know,” he said, “what it’s like to freeze when the rest of the world needs you to keep moving, and I wouldn’t have put it past you to have gone numb with it all. I wouldn’t have been surprised if you were so exhausted you couldn’t even tell me to fuck off.” 

“Then why are you so angry now?” I asked, almost whispering. “Why is it—”

“Because I don’t want you to!” he hissed. “Because freezing and rotting only makes you feel even worse. I need you to feel, Feyre. Be deliriously happy, be incandescently furious, be achingly sad—Amarantha wanted to break you, so you can’t break. She wanted to break all of us, so we mustn’t. Not now that the bitch is finally dead.”

I closed my eyes and willed the tears to remain behind my lids. There was—a point, to what he was saying. I knew that. A part of me knew that like it knew the sky was blue and leaves dropped in autumn. Amarantha had wanted to break me and I couldn’t, shouldn’t let her, like I hadn’t allowed her to when she was still alive.

But I was just—

“I’m so tired of holding myself together,” I breathed, chest shuddering. My hands went up, covered my eyes. “I’m just—I don’t know what to do, what to think, who to please, and I—”

I thought that he was a good distance away from me. A few steps, enough for me to shape a gaping chasm between us that made me feel saner—like it was supposed to be, so I wouldn’t have to resist the urge to burrow myself into him while I was too exhausted to prevent that from happening. 

But then he was close. 

So close I could smell him, feel the warmth of him. His hands encircled my wrists and he pulled, gentle, until I listened; tilted my head back and swallowed through all the thick saliva gathering at the back of my throat, blinked, squinted at his face through the blur of moisture. 

“You don’t need to please anyone but yourself,” he said, voice suddenly small and emotional and desperate. “You have eternity; all I ask is that you won’t spend eternity pleasing those who don’t deserve it. All I ask is that you don’t break.” His mouth set into a thin line, and he squeezed my wrists, shook them lightly as if to hammer his point home the kindest way he knew how. “Do not break, Feyre. You’re no toy, no trophy, and you cannot shatter the way objects are wont to do.”

I wished to sway forwards and rest myself against his chest. He was solid, steady, like we were moments away from winnowing—but it wasn’t time yet, so it couldn’t be. 

“No toy,” I heard myself whisper. “No toy, no trophy, no object—” my throat bobbed, “—no subject.” 

“No-one’s subject.” He shook my wrists again, gently. “You don’t bow to anyone. Least of all those who demand it of you.” 

And I knew, actively, that this could be a manipulation. That this was a way to alienate me from Tamlin, who demanded things and commanded me like I was below him, so Rhys himself could swoop in and save me once more. A favour; there was no such concept as a faerie gifting you something. A favour to have me help the way he wanted me to. 

But if it was a manipulation—if it was, why were his words for my strength? Why did he not want me to take a knee? 

“I’m a selfish male, Feyre,” he said, as if he’d read my mind—but he couldn’t have, for my walls were still strong and glinting, impenetrable. 

He released my hands and they automatically came to rest against his chest, almost against my will but not wholly. I wanted to touch him, feel him. Something inside of me eased. 

“I’m a very selfish male,” he repeated. “I’ll be honest, I want to keep you with me forever—though I can’t, couldn’t, do that to you. But know,” he said fiercely, “please know that I’d never, ever, want you to bow for me. You are my equal in every way that matters.”

He was so close my senses were utterly overwhelmed. Nothing but sea salt, and citrus, and petrichor—the intensity of his star-flecked eyes was keeping me frozen, caught. I was caged in but nothing in me wished to rebel. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to leave. 

“Rhys,” I whispered. I didn’t know why. My hands were against his chest but they wouldn’t push him away. “Rhys, I—”

“Tell me to stop,” he said. He leaned closer, chest heaving. “You can tell me to stop. I will. I promise.” 

My traitorous hand slid up to his neck. 

One moment, we were making nothing but eye-contact, wide and so still it was as if the air itself had stopped moving. The next, his mouth was on mine. 

He tasted like tea. Not the faerie kind, with its unplaceable flavours and intoxicating smells, but simpler: human tea, the way I remembered it. Hot and earthy, bright and bold, the slightest tang of something like citrus but mostly smoked malt, caramel made on a fire. Comforting. 

Home, my mind told me. Rhys tasted like home.

My fingers tangled in his hair and my biceps curled until he was pressed against me, one hand slipping to rest on the small of my back and the other skittering, hesitant and desperate, to find the place where it belonged. It belonged on me, I knew. Somewhere.

He groaned in the back of his throat as I went up to the tips of my toes, pressing hard. I couldn’t get enough of him, of his mouth, of the taste of it. His teeth clacked against mine as I sucked at his tongue until it curled around my own. The hand that had been wandering came up to cup the back of my head with heart-stuttering softness and desperation. It was like there was nothing to it, this kiss, as natural and normal like two magnets colliding and refusing to let go. 

No sparks. No incomprehensible heat. Just comfort and warmth, Rhys’ hair between my fingers and his scent in my nose and his body against mine. I never wanted to let go again. 

And as his pinkie finger brushed the nape of my neck with a soothing press, I felt it. 

A snap. 

Like a string had been strung and strummed, I felt my side of the preliminary mating bond lock into place with a resounding twang. My heart constricted, my stomach burnt, my breathing hitched; I lost my balance and we went stumbling back against the door. He licked into my mouth with an almost reckless sort of abandon and I wanted to swallow him whole, consume him, keep him in a spot in my chest that had been carved out just for him. 

My leg lifted and curled around the back of his. Rhys lifted his mouth from mine with a rattling keen, took a steadying, gasping breath, and descended once more.

I wasn’t sure if I’d breathed in the brief time our lips had been apart, but my lungs were burning, so I inhaled sharply through my nose so as to not dislodge myself from him. He was so warm and cool at the same time, hair strong yet soft like a rabbit’s pelt. I hadn’t wanted to keep much of the prey I’d caught, but sometimes I had wanted to, when the days and nights were equally as freezing, when my fingers had gone stiff with cold. 

Just a pelt. Just one. 

I’d never kept any of them. None of us knew how to sew a coat or scarf. Nesta and Elain had only ever learnt how to embroider, and later, how to darn socks and stitch up worn fabric gone ragged with wear to reinforce it; I’d never been taught how to hold a pen, let alone a needle. 

But his hair was soft and strong, like a rabbit’s fur, and I wanted to keep him. Perhaps I could. 

He moaned as my fingers tightened their grip, pressed against me so firmly it was impossible for us to get even closer to one another. I wondered when he went to cut his hair, because even the back of it, where it was the shortest, was easy to take hold of. I wondered if he’d consider growing it out, if I asked. I wondered if he’d still be so damn irresistible with dorkily grown out hair—he probably would be. 

Then he nipped my bottom lip with sharp teeth, and my mind went blissfully blank.

I couldn’t remember if kissing Tamlin had ever felt like this. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever been kissed like this in general. All I knew was Rhys, and his mouth, and the taste of him and the smell of him and the feel of him. It swelled up inside of me and pressed against my skin, bloated and almost painful. My heart thudded and jumped.

Rhys retreated with a harsh intake of breath, clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut, swayed back to press his forehead against mine. My head spun; the sudden burst of oxygen and distance was so violent, so much, that I felt dizzy—every breath was seeped with his scent, his taste. I was shaking. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, frantic, “sorry, Feyre, I’m—”

I tilted my head up and kissed him again, relishing how he groaned and slumped back onto me, pressing me against the door. We both panted with every spit-slick slide, every short time we came up for air. 

Gods. Mother. Cauldron—

Blessed, blessed contact. The barest hints of his stubble scraped against my chin, beneath my thumbs and pointer finger when the kiss he gave me was closed-mouthed and I needed to open his jaw with a simple press. And then he slipped away, kissed his way down my jaw and towards my neck. Latched on, right where the tendons began to strain as I tilted my head to the side. 

“Feyre,” he murmured, voice hoarse and trembling. “Feyre. Feyre, Feyre, Feyre—”

Like a prayer. 

Like how Tamlin had sounded—

“Rhys,” I answered him, “Rhys.”

He groaned again, shivered as I stroked my hand down the broad, clothed planes of his back. My other tightened in his hair; my eyes fell closed, head thudding against the door as I dropped it. 

I didn’t feel guilty. For once, for this brief moment, I simply didn’t. Not apathy—no, not that, not now, because I felt warm and safe, comfort zapping through me with every press of Rhys’ mouth against my neck, every scrape of his teeth. Because I knew that with one kiss, one snap inside my chest, there was no possible way I’d ever be able to let him go. 

No, I didn’t feel guilty for granting the person who was made for me a kiss. I didn’t feel apathy for Tamlin either, even if I was certain with every fibre of my being that I’d never be able to give myself to him again. It was near indifference. 

One kiss. Just the one, and I felt indifferent to the future of the male I’d died for, in favour of the touch of the male who’d crawled over broken bones to defend me as I lay dying. 

But I’d died for Tamlin—and he loved me, even now that I’d hardened for him. Even if his love was suffocating. 

He deserved closure. 

“This isn’t a good idea yet,” I whispered. 

Rhys froze. His head lifted from my neck, but not much further—merely rested against mine, cheek to cheek. 

“No?”

“Not yet,” I repeated, clutching at him so hard it would hurt when I let go. “Not now.”

Rhys said nothing at first. And I thought—I thought I’d hurt him, again. Broke something between us instead of just myself. But then his head rested heavier, and so did his body, and his forehead dropped against my shoulder; and I relaxed, because that meant he’d understood.

“The five hundred years I’ve been waiting for you felt like nothing but a single breath the first time I saw you,” he whispered thickly. I felt his eyes close, lashes tickling my skin, and I breathed him in like I’d never be able to smell him again. “If you’d ask it of me, Feyre, I’d wait for you until the sun burns out.”

[your-ne1ghbor]

Wish 2023 could have been the next Prince of Egypt and here's why:

@chillwildwave reminded me of Prince of Egypt because of their recent post on a villain song rewrite/reimagined.

So I just wanted to say that both are pretty similar in terms of most of the plot and modivations for the character, and the fact that Wish could have been just as good as prince of Egypt, but yk, they butchered it. The 2 movies COULD BE very similar in a good way(if one was done properly)

So lets get started!!!

(this will be a brief overview of both films since I know you guys dont have all day so here)

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Background on the Prince of Egypt

Prince of Egypt is an musical adaptation from the story of Mosses from the bible.

So in the movie/story, all the Hebrews are enslaved by the Pharoh of Eygpt. One day, the Hebrew's population started to grow, so to prevent a revolt, the Pharoh sent out his troops to slaughter all of the newborn children by tossing them into the river where they are eaten by crocidiles (this scene was told in the begining and dream sequence of the film. The begining song is called Deliver Us)

Mosses's mother, not wanting her newborn child to face the same fate as the other children, sends her child in a basket into the river "So he Can be free". God protected him from all of the fates the river brought and by fate, landed at the Pharoh's castle, with his wife taking him him.

Mosses grew up under the impression that they where his biological parents and brother to Ramisies (yes my spelling is bad help) until he heard a song that his sister sang (yes he has biological siblings) that his mother sang to him when she brought him to the river. Insert a song and dream sequence, he learns to what Pharroh did those years ago with the Hebrews. And we get a cold chilling response from his "father" : Oh dear Mosses. They were only slaves.

So with this revelation, he realizes how badly they treat the Hebrews. Then, one of the soilders continued beating an old man, so to protect him, Mosses accidently kills him. Mosses wonders the desert, and comes across some travelers. Mosses was welcomed and he learned about God and putting his life "Through Heaven's Eyes". Later on, he gets a message from God for him to go and free the Hebrews from Pharoh. He goes back, expecting his "father" to be the one still in charge, but realizes that it was his brother Ramesies who had taken up the Mantel. His brother is over joyed to see Mosses, but Mosses only asks him to free the Hebrews (After A BANGER: Your Playing with the Big Boys Now). He says no, but it was only the start of the rage of God. Through a sequence called: The Plagues, the ending being all the first born children dies, and only then, he lets the people go.

(Not spoiling the ending since it is a good movie)

Alright thats an overview of Prince of Egypt, now lets look at Wish

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Background on Disney's Wish 2023

Okay so the plot is about a guy named Magnifico creating a kingdom where your dreams can become a reality after his home/family was destroyed and he knew how dreams can be destroyed. Kinda why he built the kingdom.

The protagonist, Asha is hoping to be the king's apprentice because she wants her grandfather's wish to be granted since it hasn't been granted yet.

Through some crazy shinanigans, Magnifico says no to Asha because her grandfather's wish to inspire people could cause a revolt. Asha is destroyed by this and complains about it to a plushie-AH uh star (I am not calling that thing Star it is forever gonna be plushie). And the plushie comes down to earth to cause chaos (UM HELP ASHA FREE THE WISHES haha...)

Through some boring parts of the movie, Magnifico opens a magic book and becomes....the villain...

（￣。。￣）...

He starts eating wishes by first eating Asha's mom's wish and he gets stronger but he is mainly after plushie sooo yeahh (the wishes do not boost his powers in any way it is basically like a drug it makes him happy lol)

He then catches plushie and Asha. And through the power of song, he is defeated. Asha becomes the fairy godmother and plushie returns to the sky.

Dang...

(Yes I spoiled the ending because since the movie doesn't earn my respect, just like how Disney does not respect it's audience in a mature way anymore)

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How are the Stories similar?

Its kind of simple really, just mainly hinging on the fact that the villains needs to let something go.

For Mosses' case, it is his people, the Hebrews.

For Asha's case, it is the dreams and hopes of Rosas.

However, Wish butchered this so bad that it is kind of ironic in a sense. It was already hard enough to go brief and in depth as I can with Wish because of how bare bones it is.

So some similarities they share is a corrupt overlord (Pharoh and Magnifico) holding something close to them. When threated, however, they react in different ways.

Pharoh puts more work on the Hebrews while Magnifico kinda does nothing??? Eat the wishes I guess after he opens the book is close enough.

Mosses modivation at the start was to make his brother laugh, hense the line in plagues "Once I thought the chance to make you laugh, was all I ever wanted". To freeing his people underneath the corrupt ruling.

"A kingdom should never be built up on the backs of slaves".

Asha's modivations are similar to Mosses, but also not at the same time. Her modivation at the start is legit: "Lets become an apprentice so I can get my grandfather's wish granted" to "oh he wont grant the wish and most of the wishes wont be granted so lets free them all."

It felt like they wanted to lean into the idea that Magnifico is an awful ruler or pratically most of the plot in the Prince of Egypt, but as I established in my brief overview of Wish, he was not a terrible person. He only got worse because of Asha going haywire for not getting what SHE wanted. And I said in the begining of this blog, "The 2 movies COULD BE very similar in a good way(if one was done properly)".

Wish could have been the next Prince of Egypt with just a different concept in mind. It felt like that clearly in the deleted scenes like this one right here:

We learn that he crushes dreams (which is their life source in this version) when people oppose him.

This could have been explored, if they didn't decide on "It would be cooler if everyone liked Magnifico".

How so?

Well, think of Ramisies before the scene where "all the first born children will die". When Mosses is trying to reconsile with him and change his mind, all he does is: "My father had the right idea of getting rid of YOUR people...AND I WILL FINISH THE JOB". And we get a terrifying shot of all the Hebrew children getting tossed into the river. Showing his stubborness. This scene right here:

Skip to 3:19 for that scene

What if he get that scene with Magnifico? And change the context?

So lets say, Magnifico takes wishes and either changes them to fit what he wants ( @annymation's idea) or granting ones that are dangerous since the good wishes gives him more power (in my old draft), or we don't know what he does with the wishes, just that he takes them.

Lets go with we don't know what he does with the wishes (so that for anyone who is making a rewrite on wish can just insert their ideas on what they do with the wishes).

In perspective, everyone is living miserably. Going by the same routine, time and time again, with no passion or goal in life. We can say that the trade is: You give up on your dreams for a roof over your head. If we apply that, a lot of parents can sympathize with the people's situation. Many of them have families, or children to take care of. Of course you want your children to be safe from harm, just that you will suffer the cost, and soon, your children will. Its a heart breaking situation since the world is a very dangerous place, and as I said, parent's will do anything to protect their kid "at all costs" (haha see what I did there) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

So what about Asha here? Well it changes the context to her modivation. She wants her grandfather to experience that spark he did as a teen and to see him finally be happy and not so miserable. SO of course she will want to learn what Magnifico does with the wishes, and applies for apprenticeship.

Now lets skip ahead, to where it could be "Mosses and Ramisies before all first born die" part. Perhaps learning about the wishes inspired Asha to form a revolt. The people are now fighting back and they want to be free more than ever. A scene between Asha and the King, where the King knows what Asha wants, but he is too stubborn to give the wishes back. Even put in the perspective of plushie, he sees it as a threat to him, and depending on what he does with the wishes, can make him need more of the people's wishes more than ever to end plushie's life. You can also say that both the king's men or higher class of overlords (if there are any you decide!) and the people are taking it too far and their fight is causing so much destruction. Both are sympathizing with the situation at hand and suffering because of it (in different ways ofc), but we know who is in the right here. Asha tries to reason with him, and perhaps, Magnifico finally will end it. It can be literally anything, and you can even pull A PRINCE OF EGYPT, where he kills all the newborns or something.

And for proof that this could work, a few weeks ago, I remembered the song: YOUR PLAYING WITH THE BIG BOYS.

The song, felt like a threat. You either comply, or something bad will happen. You are also nothing in context to them since they are all power hungry overlords. You are an insect and they are giants. They'll walk all over you since you are insignificant to them and nothing important. And I applied it to Wish, and it fucking works Disney, YOU SON OF A B-

(╯‵□′)╯︵┻━┻

Anyways, I made a small animatic of it. Not done ofc, I come up with ideas way more than my modivation and time to make or finish them. And it was only "YOUR PLAYING WITH THE BIG BOYS NOW" part since idk I just imagined that scene more vividly lol

o(*￣▽￣*)o

If anything, you can say that they make an image of a dragon to scare Asha (and star boy but they dont know that) to make them do what they want and fall in line with what everyone in Rosas does. They can't transform into one, they just use their talent in magic to show off pretty visuals to scare people. (LIKE PRINCE OF EGYPT)

And it works. Star Boy is horrified and he now realizes how bad the situation is. If these people gets his powers, EVERYONE IS AT RISK. PEOPLE CAN DIE BECAUSE A STAR GOT TOO CURIOUS OF EARTH AND HIS GENEROSITY LEAD HIM CLOSER TO HIS DOOM AND THE DOOM OF ASHA'S PEOPLE. This horrifies Asha because you can say, she still believed that these people can change. In my version at least, Asha is adopted into the royal family and is a sucker and more forgiving to them since THEY ARE HER CARETAKERS. And when realizing that EVERYTHING SHE KNEW ABOUT HERSELF AND THE KINGDOM was a lie, she had HOPE that perhaps they can change because of her. But they didn't. Her parents saw her as, "You're against me? Fine then. You will suffer just like your real parents did." But they don't harm her here. My idea was, is that this was a threat to her, to the kingdom to Rosas. "You don't obey, you will suffer concequences. But, you were our daughter, we cared for you, this is just a phase, she will get over it and be more compliant later. But for now, Rosas will suffer because of you." This gives depth to the situation and slightly sympathetic traits given to her adoptive parents. They grew attached to Asha, but now? Her rising up? It is outrageous and they take offense to that lol.

It is very similar to the original and it is slightly intended since I love those songs way too much hehe (✿◡‿◡)

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Anyways, thats why I think Wish is almost the next Prince of Egypt. I do firmly believe though, it has more similarities with Hunchback of Notre Dome, and I also love that movie for it's own good too

ヾ(⌐■_■)ノ♪

But this was just an oppertunity to show how bad Wish is compared to other classics like this movie, but it also clashes with Hunchback of Notre Dome, so if you wanna see the similarities with that just let me know hehe

now ya'll have a good day or night (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞