#her books are such a strange thing for me

[hyunjuenthusiast]

Im craving for angst , so girl can you write about Hyun ju x female reader

Basically Hyun ju and female reader have been dating for 1 and half year now, but things didn't went so well after attending squid game, Hyun ju gave young mi more attention , than she did for female reader so she distance herself from Hyun ju and her team, wondering why female reader ditched her. So female reader went to Gi Hun's team instead. And to make things worse not only Hyun ju voted O to continue the game, but Hyun ju lost the love of her life during the Mingle, ANND.. It took Hyun ju 2 to 4 business days to figure out that she hasn't been a good girlfriend ever since they came to squid game and Hyun ju Crashes out so badly.

(Female reader committed su!cide during Mingle, died instead of young mi and the shaman lady predicted female reader's death)

(And YES the guilt is definitely eating Hyun ju alive)

Sorry if this is too long

Take your time for this one

゜・（／。＼）・゜

Okayyyy complex, I like it! Hopefully I do this ask justice 🙏🏻

HER ANGEL

Pairing: Hyun-ju x femreader

Warnings: ANGST, depression, death, suicide, longing, survivors guilt.

Insecure. That was a word Y/n had always been familiar with. Ever since she was little. Her mother would criticize everything she did. If she ate too much, if she didn't eat enough. If her hair was down, if her hair was up. If she smiled, and if she didn't smile. Everything she did up until she was an adult was judged.

When she finally got the taste of freedom, moving out at the ripe age of eighteen, she discovered that the world was an ugly place. Nothing like how she fantasized how it would be. The books were wrong.

For the first few years after moving out, she was alone. Truly alone. She had no one. No friends to call late at night, no fuzzy kitten to cuddle when she had tears running down her face on a rainy day. No significant other who would whisper sweet nothings to her as she fell asleep... No one.

Not until she met her angel. Hyun-ju.

Everything had changed. For the first time in her life, Y/n felt like she deserved to take up space in the world. Hyun-ju made her feel wanted, loved. She erased every insecurity Y/n had. She loved every flaw and imperfection. She kissed her scars and wiped her tears.

Hyun-ju was her soul mate.

Y/n didn't care that her angel was different. She didn't care how people looked at them in public. Hyun-ju was perfect, in every way. Even if her angel couldn't see it for herself.

Hyun-ju told Y/n of her wishes for surgery. She had cried to Y/n about her debt and abandonment. And Y/n was there to comfort her in return, wiping her angels tears away and whispering promises.

So when a nice-looking man asked Y/n to play a game, showing her the money she would win, of course she agreed. For her angel, for Hyun-ju.

Y/n didn't need convincing to call the number on the back on the card. Once she saw Hyun-ju looking at herself in front of the mirror, her eyes filled with loathing, she dialed the number.

It was the least she could do. Hyun-ju had given Y/n her sense of self back. She had given Y/n her smile back. Of course, she would return the favor. Anything for her angel.

Waking up to the blasted music, she looked around to see other people. Waring the ugliest green she had ever seen. Looking down at herself, she saw her jacket was labeled 005.

She gathered around like everyone else. Waiting for an explanation. There were so many pink guards and even more players. They explained that they weren't trying to collect debt or cause any harm.

"Excuse me!" Said a voice. Not just any voice. Her angel's voice. Y/n quickly turned and saw Hyun-ju. Her Hyun-ju standing near a couple of bunks. She didn't catch what her angel said next, only focused on the fact that she was here.

Y/n winced as she saw Hyun-ju getting slapped. That was the day her angel had gone on a walk. She remembers her coming home, acting strange. Hyun-ju had met the salesman before Y/n did.

As all the players walked in single file lines up the colorful steps to get their pictures taken, Y/n looked around for Hyun-ju. Seeing her fixing her hair prettily, she smiles and quickly walks up to her. "Angel!" Y/n gushes.

Instead of greeting Y/n with a smile, Hyun-ju tenses. Asking her what she was doing here. "I know how much you need the money..." Y/n whispers softly, watching as Hyun-ju's eyes soften.

As they all walk into the first game, Hyun-ju holds Y/n's hand. "Don't separate from me, sweet girl. Okay?" Her angel asks softly. Y/n squeezes her hand in return.

"What is that?" Y/n asks, pointing to the giant doll like figure in the distance.

"Green light..."

Y/n quickly runs forward a few steps, then stops.

"Red light!" The doll waits, seeing if anyone would move.

The first to go was 196. Y/n stood, stiff as a board, the sound of people dying behind her. When the doll says green light, no one moves forward, but Hyun-ju reaches over and grips Y/n's hand.

Player 456 explains that they will die anyway if they don't cross the finish line in time, and so, she stays behind Hyun-ju, racing towards the finish line.

Once across, she watches in horror as her angel races back across to help player 456. This is the first and only time that Y/n has ever wanted to yell at Hyun-ju.

The second game is the six legged pentathlon. Her and Hyun-ju look around for more teammates. She notices Hyun-ju's fallen expression when people stare at her, and when they don't want to join because of her.

"Excuse me?" A timid voice says from behind the both of them. Y/n and Hyun-ju turn to see a small girl, obviously nervous. "W-Would you...like to team up with me?" She asks, looking at Hyun-ju first, then to Y/n.

Ever since then, Hyun-ju had been attached at the hip with Young-Mi. It was hard for Y/n not to notice, especially in a place like this. When she wanted comfort and reassurance from her angel, she would see that Hyun-ju was already comforting Young-Mi, that she was already whispering words of encouragement to her instead of Y/n.

But that was just who her angel was. She was kind to everyone, and Y/n had no right to take that away from Young-Mi. Y/n could clearly see how terrified the small girl was, and if Hyun-ju was her safe place, then who was Y/n to take that away from her?

That's was until Y/n heard it. What Hyun-ju was saying to Young-Mi.

"I won't let anything happen to you, sweet girl." Hyun-ju had said. Y/n felt her stomach drop. Sweet girl. That was Y/n's nickname. That was her word of endearment.

She decided to give them space. Joining player 456 and his team.

The third game was mingle.

As they all stood on the platform, Y/n watched as Hyun-ju held Young-Mi's hand, giving her soft smiles. Y/n felt horrible for feeling envious. Would she always be cursed to be this insecure? Would she ever feel content with anything?

"TEN"

The voice said. Everyone scrambled to find their groups and rooms. So far, their team had nine after joining Hyun-ju. Until her angel grabbed the crazy shaman lady.

Running into the green room, Y/n pants, not even bothering to look at her angel holding onto another woman. Hyun-ju gives her a confused look, wondering why she had left their group.

"Your heavy sorrow will swallow you whole." The crazy lady says, making everyone look at her. Y/n shrinks into herself as she realizes that she's talking to her. "You won't last much longer, I'm afraid. Pity. You have the purest birthstone."

"SIX" the voice says.

Gi-hun and Young-il had split from the group, leaving Y/n no other choice but to join Hyun-ju.

They all run to a yellow door, freezing in their tracks as they see a group is already in there. Hyun-ju races to find a different one.

She found one.

Y/n starts to run towards it with the other people in her group, but when she sees player 333 running towards it too, she slows down.

Looking over at her angel, she sees her clutching Young-Mi's hand.

The pregnant girl holds her belly.

The mother and sun cling to each other.

Where did Y/n fit into that? She didn't.

She has seen Jun-hee talking to player 333 on several occasions...

She needed him, more than any of them needed Y/n.

She made her decision then.

As player 333 races into the room, she finally hears Hyun-ju calling for her. Her angel was trying to get 333 out of the way.

Y/n walks to the door, looking into the small slit. "Y/n, what the hell are you doing? Go find a room! Go!" Hyun-ju shouts. Y/n only shakes her head softly.

"Ita okay angel." She whispers, putting her hands onto the door. Hyun-ju is starting to panic. The timer still had thirteen seconds on it. "I know there's no place for me here. Not now." Y/n says, tearing up.

Hyun-ju continues to shout, begging Y/n to go find a room. "You made me feel so inside the lines, Hyun-ju. Like I wasn't a lost shade outside of the pretty design. I could actually fit inside the art." Y/n says with a sad smile.

"I never thanked you for that." She says. "Thank you for showing me. For guiding me to see who I was for the first time."

Nine seconds on the timer.

"I know you'll be happy. You'll make it out of here and live the life you've always dreamed of...live the life you've always deserved. A life, with Young-Mi." Y/n's lip quivers.

Four seconds on the timer.

Hyun-ju starts shaking the door, sobbing and yelling. "I love you, my angel." She whispers tearfully, letting out a pained breath as she feels the bullet peirce her back.

"NO! Y/N!"

Player 333 had left that room beaten to a bloody pulp.

At first, Young-Mi's hand doesn't feel out of place instead of her own, not for the next two games.

Until Y/n's words repeat instead of her head.

A life...with Young-Mi.

Once she realizes it, she drops Young-Mi's hand as if it had burned her. She had been holding the wrong woman. Comforting the wrong woman. Calling her...

She had called the wrong woman sweet girl.

Hyun-ju looks over to Young-Mi, a tear falling. She had made the love of her life question her love.

She had been at fault for her sweet girl's death. Not 333. Not even the guards. Hyun-ju was the reason.

"Don't worry. You'll be seeing her again, " the shaman says. "A lot sooner than you think."

For the next game... was human chess.

I'm scared.... what do we think?

[00valentina-writes00]

How about sevika with a terminally sick gf. I really loved the one you wrote for vi

♡♥︎Sevika with a terminally ill girlfriend♥︎♡

♥︎ Sevika doesn’t show much, but she’s absolutely destroyed when she finds out. There’s a crack in her usually unflappable armor, a flicker of vulnerability she tries to bury beneath her usual hard edges.

♥︎ She doesn’t talk about it much, but she starts keeping tabs on doctors, researching treatments, and trying to get her hands on any illegal or experimental cures she can afford. She won’t let you give up, even if you’re already resigned.

♥︎ Her usual harshness turns into something colder. She doesn’t waste time with anything unnecessary. If she’s going to help you, it’s going to be in the most effective way possible. No sentimental words, just straight to the point: “I’ll fix this. You’re not dying on me.”

♥︎ When you start getting weaker, she gets more demanding. She pushes you to eat, to stay awake, to fight. She’s relentless because if she doesn’t see you fight, it breaks her apart

♥︎ There are nights when she stays up late, arms crossed, staring out at the dark streets of Zaun, thinking about ways to make you better. Even the shimmer she injects into her system doesn’t offer any comfort when she watches you fade.

♥︎ She spends hours researching obscure treatments, bargaining with shady figures, doing whatever it takes to extend your life, even if it’s just a few more weeks or days. It doesn’t matter how much it costs.

♥︎ At some point, she starts finding herself hovering at your side all the time. She doesn’t want to leave. Not even to sleep. It becomes a strange routine for her, a kind of forced comfort where the silence between you is full of things neither of you are brave enough to say.

♥︎ If you’re awake enough, she’ll push your hair out of your face, but she won’t look you in the eyes. She doesn’t know how to handle the emotions you bring out in her, and it terrifies her.

♥︎ She never asks you how you’re feeling or if you want to talk about it, because she’s afraid you’ll say that you’re giving up. She can’t handle hearing it from your lips, even though she knows deep down you’re right.

♥︎ She starts to get more agitated, snapping at people who are just trying to help because nothing feels like it’s good enough. If anyone says something remotely positive about your situation, she shuts them down hard. She can’t pretend like there’s hope when there’s none.

♥︎ When you can’t leave the bed anymore, Sevika starts bringing everything to you. Food, water, medicine, books to distract you—anything to keep you from slipping further into the darkness.

♥︎ She never shows her tears, but sometimes when she thinks you’re sleeping, she finds herself staring at you, face etched with raw pain, her jaw clenched tight to hold back the wave of emotions that threatens to drown her.

♥︎ Her temper is worse than usual. She’s quick to lash out at others, mostly because she’s so incredibly fucking scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of not being able to save you. And she hates herself for not being able to fix it.

♥︎ She makes herself scarce around people when it gets worse. She’s quieter, more brooding, because the weight of her guilt and helplessness is too heavy to share. The only place she feels even a little bit in control is by your side.

♥︎ On the nights you’re too weak to speak, she holds your hand with a tightness that borders on painful. Her touch is demanding, like she’s afraid you’ll slip away in the blink of an eye.

♥︎ She doesn’t let you see her fear. Every day is a reminder of how much she’s failing you. And every time she sees that spark of hope in your eyes, it drives her mad because she knows she can’t keep it alive forever.

♥︎ As things worsen, she starts avoiding the topic of your death. It feels like a betrayal every time someone mentions it. She ignores the reality, pretending there’s a chance things will magically improve.

♥︎ When you do finally die, it feels like she’s been hit by a freight train. The finality of it leaves her in a state of shock, unable to process it. She doesn’t cry in front of you, not even when she closes your eyes for the last time.

♥︎ Sevika keeps busy after your passing. She throws herself into work, into anything that will distract her from the empty space beside her. She stops sleeping, drinking herself into oblivion, until her body can’t keep up with her broken heart.

♥︎ There are days when the memories hit her in waves. She can still hear your voice in her head, your laugh, the way you’d complain when she pushed too hard. And every time, it feels like a weight she can’t shake.

♥︎ People stop asking her how she’s doing because it’s obvious. She doesn’t need words anymore. The silence speaks for her. She’s the same outwardly—cold, distant—but internally, she’s unraveling, a mess of emotions she doesn’t know how to deal with.

♥︎ She tries to convince herself it’s better this way. You aren’t suffering anymore, and she can’t deny that you were getting worse. But she also knows she’ll never be the same again. That part of her is gone, taken by something she could never control.

♥︎ In the long run, Sevika doesn’t let anyone get close to her again. The wound you left in her will never heal, and she doesn’t think anyone could ever fill the hole you left behind. Not that she’s ready for that anyway

♥︎ But every now and then, when she’s alone, she lets herself think back to you. To the time you spent together, how you made her laugh, how you made her feel alive again. And she lets herself grieve the woman who was once hers.

[intersexwiki]

Rest of post for archival purposes

WHAT THE BOOK DOESN���T HANDLE WELL

The body descriptions. As Dmitri put it: “ Like "his butt jiggled and it reminded  me of women" ew. It was intentional but I had to put the book down. It reminded me of transvestigators and how they take pictures of people in public.” 🤮

Not pushing Genly to reflect on how weird he is about other people’s bodies. We all had issues with how Genly is constantly scrutinizing the bodies of other humans to assess their gender(s) and it’s pretty gross.

vic asked: “how much of this is her reproducing violence without her knowing it? A thing I didn't like was how he always judging and analyzing people's bodies and realizing others treat him that way. And I wish there was more of his discomfort about this, that it made him feel icky.”

Dimitri added: “I really wanted him to have a moment of this too, for him to realize how much it sucks to be treated this way. As a trans person it's so uncomfortable. What are you doing going around doing this to people?”

Using male pronouns as default/ungendered pronouns. Élaina asked why Genly thinks a male pronoun is more appropriate for a transcendent God and pointed out there’s a lot to unpack there.

OTHER POSITIVES ABOUT THE BOOK

Genly’s journey towards respecting women, that he still had a ways to go by the end of the book. vic pointed out how “LeGuin was straight, and she loves men, and is kinda giving them the side-eye [in this book]. Her writing about how Genly is childish makes me really happy. It’s kind of hilarious to watch him bang his head against the wall because he’s so rigid.” 

To which Dmitri added: “I agree with the bit on forgiving men for stuff. I don't know how she [LeGuin] does it but she really lays it all out. She gives you a platter of how men are bad at things, how they make mistakes that are pretty specific to them. She has prepared a buffet of it.”

Autistic Estraven! As Michelle put it: “autistic queer feels about Estraven speaking literally and plainly and Genly not getting it”

The truck chapter. Hits like a pile of bricks. We talked about it as a metaphor for the current pandemic.

The Genly x Estraven slowburn queerplatonic relationship

The conlang! Less is more in how it gets used

MIXED REACTIONS

The Foretelling. For some it felt unnecessary and a bit fetishy. For others it was fun paranormal times.

Pacing. Some liked how the book really forces you to really contemplate as you go. Others struggled with a pace that feels very slow to 2023 readers.

WORKS WE COMPARED THE BOOK TO

Star Trek (the original series) - we wondered if LHOD and Genly Ai were progressive by 1960s standards, and TOS came up as a comparison point. We were all of the impression that TOS was progressive for its time but all of us find it pretty misogynist by our standards. The interest in extra-sensory perception (ESP) is something that was a staple of TOS that feels very strange to contemporary viewers and also cropped up in LHOD

Ancillary Justice - for being a book where characters’ genders are all ambiguous but the POV character is actually normal about how they describe other characters’ bodies.

The Deep - for being another book in a situation where being able to reproduce as male and female is the norm. The Deep was written by an actually intersex author, and doesn’t have the cisperisex gaze of scrutinizing every body for sex. But oddly LHOD actually winds up feeling more like a book about intersex people, because it features a character who is the odd one out in a gonosynic society. In contrast, nobody is intersex in the Deep - everybody matches the norms for their species, which makes the intersex themes in the work much more subtle.

Overall, as vic put it, “there's something to be said about an honest depiction that's not great, especially when there's no alternatives”. For a long time there weren’t many other games in town when it came to this sort of book, and even though some things now feel dated, it’s still a valuable read. We’d love to see more intersex reviews & analyses of the book!

Discussion summary: Left Hand of Darkness

Published in 1969, The Left Hand of Darkness is a classic in science fiction that explores issues of sex/gender in an alien-yet-human society where the aliens are just like us except in how they reproduce. These aliens, the Gethenians, can reproduce as either male or female. They spend most of their lives sexually undifferentiated. Once a month, they go into heat (“kemmer”) and their sexual organs activate as either male or female (it’s essentially random).

Here's a summary of the discussions we had on 2023-08-25 and 2023-09-01 about the book:

HIGH LEVEL REACTONS

Michelle (@scifimagpie): even though it was written by a cis straight perisex woman there is a queerness to the writing that feels true and that she nailed. There is a queerness to the soul of this book that still holds up, that's true and good, and I cannot but love and respect that.

Elizabeth (@ipso-faculty): this book is such a commentary on 1960s misogyny. Genly is a raging misogynist. It takes a whole prison break and crossing the arctic for Genly to realize a woman or androgyne can be competent 👀

Dimitri: [Having read just the first half of the book] I wonder if it keeps happening, if Genly keeps going "woaaaah" [to the Gethenians’ androgyny] or if he ever acclimates. It's been half the novel my guy

vic: yeah a book where a guy is destroyed by seeing a breast makes me want queer theory

vic: [it also] makes me feel good to see how much has changed [since the 1960s]

THE INTERSEX STUFF

A thing we appreciated about the book was how being intersex is contextual. The main character of the book, Genly Ai, is a human from a planet like Earth, who visits Gethen to open trade and diplomatic relations.

On his home planet, and to Earth sensibilities, Genly is perisex - he is able to reproduce at any time of the month and is consistently male.

But on Gethen, Genly becomes intersex. On Gethen, the norm is that you only manifest (and can reproduce as) a given sex during the monthly kemmer (heat/oestrus) period. 

The Gethenians understand Genly as living in “permanent kemmer”, which is described as a common (intersex) condition, and these people are hyper-sexualized and referred to as Perverts.

At this point it’s worth noting that depiction is not the same as endorsement. Michelle pointed out the book is very empathetic to those in permanent kemmer. LeGuin does not appear to be endorsing the social stigma faced by these people, merely depicting it, and putting a mirror to how our own society treats intersex people.

Throughout the book, Genly is treated as an oddity by the Gethenians. He is hyper sexualized. He undergoes a genital inspection to prove he is who he says he is. 

When Genly is sent to a prison camp and forcibly given HRT, he does not respond “normally” to the hormones, the effects are way worse for him, and the prison camp staff don’t care, and keep administering them even if it’ll kill him. 

Two of us have had the experience of having hyperandrogenism and being forced onto birth control as teenager, and relating to the sluggishness of the drugs that Genly experienced, as well as the sense that gender/sex conformity was more important to authority figures (parents, doctors) than actual health and well-being.

Another scene we discussed the one where Genly is in a prison van en route to the gulag, and a Gethenian enters kemmer and wants to mate with him and he declines. He is given multiple opportunities over the course of the book to try having sex with a Gethenian, and declines every time, and we wondered if he avoided it out of trauma of being hyper-sexualized & hyper-medicalized & having had his genitals inspected.

We discussed the way he described his genital inspection through a trauma lens, and how it interacts with toxic masculinity - in vic’s terms, Genly being "I am a manly man and I have don't trauma"

Those of us who read the short story, Coming of Age in Karhide, noted that once the world was narrated from a Gethenian POV, the people in permanent kemmer were treated far more neutrally, which gave us the impression that Genly as an unreliable narrator was injecting some intersexism along with his misogyny

WHY IT MATTERS TO READ THIS BOOK THROUGH AN INTERSEX LENS

Elizabeth: I’ve encountered critiques of this book from perisex trans folks because to them the book is committing biological essentialism, and dismissing the book as a result. I think they’re missing that this book is as much about (inter)sex as it is about gender. I think they’re too quick to dismiss the book as being outdated or having backwards ideas because they’re not appreciating the intersex themes. 

Elizabeth: The intersex themes aren’t exactly subtle, so it kind of stings that I haven’t seen any intersex analyses of this book, but there are dozens (hundreds?) of perisex trans analyses that all miss the huge intersex elephants in the room.

Also Elizabeth: I’ve seen this book show up in lists of intersex books/characters made by perisex people, and I’ve seen Estraven listed as intersex character, and it gets me upset because Estraven isn’t intersex! Estraven is perisex in the society in which he lives. Genly is the intersex character in this story and people who misunderstand intersex as being able to reproduce as male & female (or having quirky genitals smh) are completely missing that being intersex is socially constructed and based on what is considered typical for a given species.

WHAT THE BOOK DOESN’T HANDLE WELL

The body descriptions. As Dmitri put it: “ Like "his butt jiggled and it reminded  me of women" ew. It was intentional but I had to put the book down. It reminded me of transvestigators and how they take pictures of people in public.” 🤮

Not pushing Genly to reflect on how weird he is about other people’s bodies. We all had issues with how Genly is constantly scrutinizing the bodies of other humans to assess their gender(s) and it’s pretty gross.

vic asked: “how much of this is her reproducing violence without her knowing it? A thing I didn't like was how he always judging and analyzing people's bodies and realizing others treat him that way. And I wish there was more of his discomfort about this, that it made him feel icky.”

Dimitri added: “I really wanted him to have a moment of this too, for him to realize how much it sucks to be treated this way. As a trans person it's so uncomfortable. What are you doing going around doing this to people?”

Using male pronouns as default/ungendered pronouns. Élaina asked why Genly thinks a male pronoun is more appropriate for a transcendent God and pointed out there’s a lot to unpack there.

OTHER POSITIVES ABOUT THE BOOK

Genly’s journey towards respecting women, that he still had a ways to go by the end of the book. vic pointed out how “LeGuin was straight, and she loves men, and is kinda giving them the side-eye [in this book]. Her writing about how Genly is childish makes me really happy. It’s kind of hilarious to watch him bang his head against the wall because he’s so rigid.” 

To which Dmitri added: “I agree with the bit on forgiving men for stuff. I don't know how she [LeGuin] does it but she really lays it all out. She gives you a platter of how men are bad at things, how they make mistakes that are pretty specific to them. She has prepared a buffet of it.”

Autistic Estraven! As Michelle put it: “autistic queer feels about Estraven speaking literally and plainly and Genly not getting it”

The truck chapter. Hits like a pile of bricks. We talked about it as a metaphor for the current pandemic.

The Genly x Estraven slowburn queerplatonic relationship

The conlang! Less is more in how it gets used

MIXED REACTIONS

The Foretelling. For some it felt unnecessary and a bit fetishy. For others it was fun paranormal times.

Pacing. Some liked how the book really forces you to really contemplate as you go. Others struggled with a pace that feels very slow to 2023 readers.

WORKS WE COMPARED THE BOOK TO

Star Trek (the original series) - we wondered if LHOD and Genly Ai were progressive by 1960s standards, and TOS came up as a comparison point. We were all of the impression that TOS was progressive for its time but all of us find it pretty misogynist by our standards. The interest in extra-sensory perception (ESP) is something that was a staple of TOS that feels very strange to contemporary viewers and also cropped up in LHOD

Ancillary Justice - for being a book where characters’ genders are all ambiguous but the POV character is actually normal about how they describe other characters’ bodies.

The Deep - for being another book in a situation where being able to reproduce as male and female is the norm. The Deep was written by an actually intersex author, and doesn’t have the cisperisex gaze of scrutinizing every body for sex. But oddly LHOD actually winds up feeling more like a book about intersex people, because it features a character who is the odd one out in a gonosynic society. In contrast, nobody is intersex in the Deep - everybody matches the norms for their species, which makes the intersex themes in the work much more subtle.

Overall, as vic put it, “there's something to be said about an honest depiction that's not great, especially when there's no alternatives”. For a long time there weren’t many other games in town when it came to this sort of book, and even though some things now feel dated, it’s still a valuable read. We’d love to see more intersex reviews & analyses of the book!

[communist-hatsunemiku]

this might be a strange take but as someone who was groomed and who had what i would call an "elitist" mindset towards it, zako really seemed like it was about that mentality. of knowing you were playing with fire but feeling like you were above it. and for that i was really attached to it for the 2 hours it was out. the more logical side of me KNOWS its more likely a play off mimukawa nice try but i would love to believe it was meant to cater to a different audience than loli-cons. what's your take on the fiction vs reality of it? do you think westerners are just overreacting

I think you're interpretation of the song is valid, and pretty interesting tbh! I had not thought about that at all, and it's a case for letting people interpret the song in their own way. Instead of kowtowing to the loudest, most offended people. I also think the fact the creators literally took down the song amid backlash is pretty strong evidence they didn't make a song "for lolicons". They obviously did not anticipate this reaction, Channel admitted to having reservations, and tried to make Yuuki somewhat older-looking in the video. Whether you think she does or not, is up for (good faith!) debate. I do think she does not look like the literal box art version of the character, but that's kind of beside the point.

there is no fiction vs. reality debate because there are no real human beings harmed in the making of this song. Like, full stop. The "well kaai yuuki has a child VA" shit doesnt hold water cuz that person is an adult now anyway, and there are plenty of other songs featuring her that go wayyyy beyond this one. Like it's just something people reached for out of convienence. Same for "it violates her TOS!" like no one gave a fuck about Kaai Yuuki's TOS before it became a convenient cudgel in this particular situation.

The thing is, no one can have conversations about stuff like this in good faith because you are immediately labeled some kind of monster for trying to have any kind of nuanced opinion. Any dissent from "this song/movie/book is irredeemably evil and your sick for defending it" is taken as proof that you are a pervert monster. It's such a clear example of people, willfully and gleefully, diving into reactionary thinking without a shred of thought.

When really, I do think having an actual conversation about lolicon causing you discomfort is totally normal, and it's a pretty reasonable response to this stuff! But people can't just say that, they have to burn the whole thing to the ground, in the name of "protecting kids" or whatever bullshit they come up with. I don't actually like a good portion of Miku art for the same reasons people didn't like Zako! There was art going around on twitter of Miku with a literal binkie in Her mouth like a baby, and that shit was kind of weird! But I just didn't engage with it, that's it. People whipped each other up about the "harms" of this song, when simply not liking or engaging with it at all would have been the normal thing to do.

Freak outs like this do not protect anybody from anything. My big hot take is that having a moral panic about literally anything has more potential for actual harm than whatever it is people are panicking over. You simply cannot make rational, thoughtful decisions that prioritize protecting people from abuse when you are in a panic, or listening to people who are in a panic. You just can't!! It's not how shit works!

I know I have other asks about this, but I'm kind of trying to answer here, definitively, and let the topic dissipate. I'm glad I got the video downloaded, and we'll see what they release to appease all the weirdos who freaked out about the song. People objected to both the video and the lyrics themselves, so I don't know how they're going to come out with a new version that isn't radically different than the original. We'll see.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

What remains of us, pt. 3

Summary: Teaching Y/N some new tricks while making his way to her heart keeps Wally busy...a little too busy to notice others might want his happiness to crumble and turn Y/N against him.

Warnings: death, angst, mentions of mental health issues, fluff, mentions of a SCHOOL SHOOTING, swearing

Word count: 3.9k

Part 1 Part 2

Y/N sits cross-legged on a desk in the abandoned classroom, arms folded, watching Wally as he lazily tosses a crumpled piece of paper into a trash can. Ever since the music room, they’ve settled into a comfortable coexistence that neither wants to end. While Y/N’s mind occasionally went into overdrive, giving her a thousand reasons to create some distance, her heart, although no longer beating, wasn’t keen on being away for long. After all, Wally kept the sense of dread in the pit of her stomach disappear. All it takes is a smile…a single smile and she’d relax. No one ever made her feel this safe, not even when she was alive.

 "So, tell me, Wally. Any perks to being a ghost? Or is it all doom, gloom, and dramatic monologues?"

Wally smirks, leaning against the desk beside her. "Oh, absolutely. You get to be stuck with me forever. Pretty sweet deal, huh?"

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Wow. Eternal torment. Exactly what I was hoping for when I died."

He catches the way her face warms despite her sarcasm, and his grin widens. "You’re blushing."

"I am not."

"Liar."

Y/N huffs, pushing off the desk. "Let’s see if I can walk through walls to escape this conversation."

"You won’t." He follows her out, chuckling. "You like talking to me too much."

Taking it as a challenge, she rushes through empty classrooms, trying to lose Wally who laughed at her antics. Pressing her lips in a thin line, she hides in the library, behind the shelves, watching Wally run straight through and into the next room.

Chuckling, she leans back on the shelves. He’ll probably spend the next hour trying to find her – he’s not very good at hide and seek. Letting out a heavy breath, she tries to calm her breathing. It’s funny how her lungs still fight for breath after running, even in death. A lot of things have surprised her – she still craves food and can actually taste it, she gets tired, she feels pain, but also happiness and every other emotion. The only difference is: her heart is silent. Oh, and she can’t sleep. That one she hates most of all. Dreams used to be a perfect escape, but now? She actually has to go through the things she wants to ignore.

“Do you mind?” A voice startles her and she jumps in fright.

“Uh…Xavier, am I right?”

He nods, pressing his thin lips in a thinner line. “Yeah. And you’re in the way.”

Y/N steps aside but doesn’t move too far, her curiosity piqued by Xavier’s cold demeanor. He reaches for the book behind her, fingers ghosting over the worn spine before pulling it free. His electric blue eyes flicker to her, unreadable.

“I’ve heard about you,” he says casually, flipping through the pages without looking down.

“Oh?” Y/N crosses her arms. She didn’t expect ghosts to gossip and openly admit it to her face. “What is it they say? Weird, funny, clumsy?”

Xavier smirks, but there’s no humor behind it. “Naïve.”

Her brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

“You trust him too much.” He tilts his head toward the door as if Wally might burst in at any moment. “He’s not telling you everything.”

The sense of dread returns in her stomach, but she forces herself to scoff. “Wally? He’s a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them.”

Xavier raises a dark brow. “You sure about that?”

Y/N narrows her eyes. “If you have something to say, say it.”

He tucks the book under his arm and steps closer, his presence strangely intense. “There were more of us,” he murmurs. “More ghosts than Wally let on.”

He didn’t let on anything…he never mentioned anything to her.

The room suddenly feels smaller. Y/N grips the edge of the shelf behind her, steadying herself. “You’re lying.”

He tilts his head, studying her reaction. “Am I?”

Before she can push further, the library doors creak open.

“Found you!”

Wally’s voice fills the space like sunlight breaking through a storm, and Y/N instinctively steps back from Xavier. Wally stands at the entrance, hands on his hips, breathless despite not needing air. His brown eyes flicker between her and Xavier, and something shifts in his expression.

Xavier merely smirks. “How predictable.”

Y/N glances between them. The air is thick with unspoken tension. Wally steps forward, placing himself subtly between her and Xavier. “Didn’t think you’d be the type to hide in a library, newbie.”

Y/N forces a smirk, ignoring the way her stomach twists. “I spent my whole life hiding in libraries. Should have known better.”

Wally chuckles, but his eyes don’t leave Xavier. “C’mon, I have something way more fun in mind.” He drapes an arm around Y/N’s shoulder, steering her toward the exit.

She lets him, but not without casting one last glance over her shoulder. Xavier is already flipping through the book again, seemingly unbothered.

As soon as they step into the hallway, Wally’s grip tightens just slightly. “What did he say to you?”

Y/N shrugs. “Not much. Just that you suck at hide and seek.”

Wally snorts, but she doesn’t miss the way his jaw tenses.

He throws on a grin, nudging her playfully. “Well, lucky for you, I’m much better at football.”

She raises a brow. “Is this your way of charming me?”

His grin doesn’t waver. “Is it working?”

She pretends to consider before sighing dramatically. “Fine, I’ll let you teach me. But I swear, if this is just an excuse to tackle me - ”

“Would I do that?” His eyes gleam with mischief, and she can’t help but laugh.

As they walk toward the field, though, the weight of Xavier’s words lingers in her mind. Wally is hiding something. And she’s going to find out what.

The football field is eerily quiet at night, the goalposts casting long, crooked shadows across the empty expanse. The sky is speckled with stars, but Y/N barely notices. Her focus is on Wally, who stands a few feet away, spinning a football between his hands like it’s second nature. The way he moves is effortless, like he was made for this, and for the first time, she wonders what it must have been like to watch him play when he was alive. No wonder he was so popular with the girls…she’d probably be secretly head over heels for him too.

She folds her arms, eyeing the ball warily. “Just so you know, I have terrible hand-eye coordination.”

“All the more reason to practice.” Wally grins, tossing the ball up and catching it with ease. “Come on, I’ll teach you.”

She exhales, rolling her shoulders before stepping forward. “Fine, but don’t expect a miracle.”

He passes her the ball, and she fumbles almost immediately, letting out a frustrated groan as it bounces off her fingers and onto the grass. Wally barks out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Wow.” He places a hand over his heart as if her lack of talent actually pains him. “That was… tragic.”

Y/N huffs, picking up the ball and tossing it back at him, badly. It veers off course, and he lunges to catch it before it hits the ground.

“Okay, okay, new plan,” Wally says, stepping closer. “You need to get a feel for the weight first.”

He moves behind her before she can protest, so close she can feel the ghost of his warmth, not that ghosts are supposed to be warm...But Wally is. His hands slide gently over her wrists, guiding her fingers around the ball. She swallows hard.

"Relax," he murmurs, his voice low, almost teasing. "You’re way too tense."

Easy for him to say. He’s not the one hyperaware of how close they are, how his chest nearly brushes against her back, how his breath tickles the side of her neck. Butterflies! Actual, fluttering, traitorous butterflies stir in her stomach.

"Okay," he continues, oblivious to the way her pulse would be racing if her heart still worked. "Hold it like this." His fingers brush hers, his grip steady as he adjusts her stance. "Now, when you throw, flick your wrist a little, just like that."

She follows his lead, but she barely registers the motion. All she can focus on is the way his voice dips when he speaks close to her ear, the way her skin tingles where he touches her. It’s ridiculous, really, she’s supposed to be dead. She shouldn’t be feeling like this.

Wally, seemingly unaware of her inner turmoil, steps back slightly, watching her attempt another throw. The ball leaves her hand smoother this time, though it still wobbles. He lets out an approving whistle.

"See? You’re getting there."

She turns her head to look at him, their faces suddenly inches apart. She hadn’t realized just how close he still was. Her nose nearly grazes his cheek, and she can see the gold flecks in his dark eyes under the field lights.

"Are we still talking about football?" she asks, her voice quieter than before.

For the first time, Wally hesitates. His smirk falters, just for a second, his eyes flickering down to her lips before he clears his throat and steps back, too fast, too obvious.

"Uh. Yeah. Totally," he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Y/N nods slowly, letting the moment settle between them, the air thick with something unspoken. She tosses the ball up, catching it with a smirk of her own.

"Good," she says lightly, "because I was starting to think you were just looking for an excuse to hold my hand."

Wally groans, covering his face with his hands. "For someone who calls me a jock cliché, you seem to enjoy every bit of it."

Shrugging innocently, she heads to the bleachers. “Maybe I do.”

They both pretend not to notice the way their fingers still tingle, as Wally follows her. Taking a seat a few rows down from her, he glances up with uncertainty.

“You’re staring.”

Clearing her throat, she bites her lower lip and his cheeks darken at the sight and consequent thoughts immediately.

“Are you sure you’re not projecting?”

“Nope! You were definitely staring first. I think I might be winning you over”, he smirks victoriously. “No one can resist this charm!”

Wally stretches out on the bleachers, hands behind his head, while Y/N pulls her knees up, arms wrapped around them.

“I can’t believe I’m even entertaining this,” she mutters, shaking her head. “You’re eighteen.”

Wally turns to her, one brow arching. “I was eighteen.”

“Still are.”

“Physically.” He props himself up on an elbow, looking at her like she’s the one being unreasonable. “Mentally, I’ve attended high school like… five times since I died. Do you know how many books I’ve read? How many new things I’ve learned? I’m practically a walking encyclopedia.”

Y/N gives him a flat look. “You just called yourself a walking encyclopedia. That’s not really helping your case.”

Wally groans, flopping back dramatically. “Okay, fine. But seriously, I’m older than you if we’re counting ghost years. Which means technically, I'm the creepy one.”

She swats at him, nearly falling as she fails to reach him, which only makes him grin.

“That is not how that works.”

“Oh, but it does.” He sits up, suddenly animated, pointing at her like he’s won an argument. “You’re the one crushing on an older man, Y/N.”

Pulling herself down to one row above him, she purses her lips. “I am not crushing on you.”

“Yet.”

She shoves him, laughing despite herself. But in the quiet that follows, she wonders if maybe, just maybe, she already is.

The wind hums, slowly picking up speed. Y/N traces patterns in the dirty bleachers with her fingers. "I never really thought about love," she admits.

Wally rests his arms on his knees. "What do you mean?"

She shrugs. "I was always too busy. Making my parents proud, getting good grades, getting into a good school…College, residency, life. Then, well…" She gestures vaguely at their ghostly existence. “I’ve read so many romance books and watched an insane amount of romcoms, but I’ve never really experienced any of it. All the things I wanted, just…disappeared.”

Wally watches her carefully. "I never really thought about the future," he confesses. "I figured I’d always have more time. Turns out, I didn’t." Huffing, he frowns. “I never fell in love with anyone before, either. I got close once…I thought I’d have someone to share this with, but it didn’t work out.”

“This?” Was Xavier right? Did Wally lie to her?

“I mean life”, he blurts out. “I was pretty popular, had everything going for me. I mean, I like football and I was really good at it, but it’s not something I chose for myself. I played for my mom. She, uh, she really wanted me to go pro.”

Their eyes meet, something heavy passing between them. Y/N looks away first, cheeks turning a darker shade.

"Maybe we’ve got time now," Wally says softly.

She doesn’t answer. Wrapping her hand around his bicep, she leans her head on his shoulder.

Perhaps that says enough.

After a few days of teaching her to toss a football, Wally decided to give her a few ghostly lessons she could use in the spirit world…lessons he didn’t learn until a few years back.

The cafeteria is quiet in the early morning, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly as the lunch lady moves around the kitchen, setting out trays for the day. Outside, the hallways are still empty, but soon, the school will come alive with students; living ones.

Y/N leans against the doorframe, watching Wally carefully.

“Alright,” he says. “Basic ghost physics lesson: We can touch things, yeah, but what you’re grabbing isn’t really the item. It’s like…a duplicate. A placeholder. The real thing resets as soon as you take it.”

Y/N frowns. “So what’s the point?”

“The point,” he says, “is learning how to actually move something. Not just its copy. The trick is to focus. You have to latch onto the real thing, feel the weight, the texture, the way it connects to the world. And then, you gotta make it stay in your hands.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Sounds exhausting.”

“Oh, it is,” he says with a smirk. “That’s why we’re gonna make it interesting.”

Her eyes narrow. “Go on.”

“First one to steal something without it resetting in the living world wins.”

Y/N snorts. “You’re on.”

They creep inside, the scent of fresh bread and coffee lingering in the air. The lunch lady hums to herself as she unpacks a crate of produce, oblivious to the two ghosts slipping past the counter.

Y/N eyes a bag of chips, reaching for it carefully. She reminds herself of what Wally said—feel the weight, the texture. Her fingers close around the bag, and for a moment, she swears she has it. But as soon as she pulls it away, a perfect replica flickers into her grip while the real bag remains untouched on the counter, as if she never moved it at all.

She curses under her breath.

Wally, a few feet away, is eyeing a bright red apple. He exhales slowly, his expression shifting into something serious, focused. His fingers tighten around the fruit, and for a long second, nothing happens. Then, ever so subtly, the apple shifts. The real one. He rolls the apple between his fingers like it’s the easiest thing in the world. It isn’t. She knows that much.

Y/N watches as he lifts it smoothly off the counter. The spot where it sat stays empty.

No regeneration. No reset.

Her jaw drops. “No way.”

Wally grins, triumphantly spinning the apple once more before gripping it solidly. “Way.” He winks at her, tossing the apple up and catching it effortlessly.

Y/N huffs. “Alright, let me try again.”

She refocuses, staring down the bag of chips like it’s personally offended her. She presses her fingers against it, feeling the crinkle of the plastic, the weight of the contents inside. She focuses on making this one, the real one, stay in her grip.

For a second, it works.

The bag lifts, no reset in sight.

Her heart…well, not her heart, but something inside her buzzes in excitement.

Then, without warning, the real bag flickers back into place, and she’s left holding its copy.

“Damn it!” she whisper shouts.

Wally chuckles. “Not bad for a first try. Here, watch.”

He moves toward the stack of trays by the counter, placing a hand on the top one. This time, Y/N studies him closely. She sees the way his brow furrows, the way his shoulders tense as if he’s physically exerting himself.

The tray lifts.

Barely, just an inch, but it lifts.

Then, just as suddenly, it wavers, slipping right back into place. A second later, the tray duplicates into his hands, proving he lost his grip on the real thing.

He groans. “Ugh. See? Even I can’t do it every time.”

Y/N tilts her head. “And yet, you got the apple?”

“Beginner’s luck,” he jokes. “Or maybe I’m just better than you.”

She flicks his ear. “Cheater.”

“Ow,” he grumbles, rubbing the spot. “It’s called strategy.”

“You and your strategies.”

“Hey, you’ll get there,” he says, tossing the apple once before taking a victorious bite. “But until then… I win.”

Y/N glares playfully but secretly, she’s itching to try again. And she will. Because if Wally can do it, then so can she.

“Okay, so…What do you want as your reward?”

Raising his eyebrows, Wally wets his lips. For a moment, his gaze flickers lower, to her supple, parted lips but he quickly averts his eyes to the bags of chips in her hands. “I’ll settle for some chips if you’re willing to share?”

Narrowing her eyes at him, she studies his nervous smile. “Sure. If that’s what you really want?”

Clearing his throat, he nods. “Y-yeah! I love chips!”

Once they devoured the chips, the crowded halls sent them into hiding. Being around the students wasn't enjoyable, for either of them. They waited for the sunset, agreeing to relax on the bleachers again.

Slinging an arm around her shoulders, Wally and Y/N head outside. As they pass by the library’s grand, dust-coated windows, a strange sensation prickles at the back of her neck. Like being watched. Her gaze flickers to the glass, and there he is.

Xavier.

His electric blue eyes are locked onto her, sharp and unreadable, framed by the dim glow of the emergency exit light. The sight of him standing so still, almost blending into the shadows, sends a cold shiver rippling down her spine. Her breath catches, a quiet gasp escaping before she can stop it.

Beside her, Wally tenses. “Are you okay?” Wally furrows his brows, pulling away ever so slightly. His voice is softer now, laced with concern. “I’m sorry I jus –“

“It’s not that”, she cuts him off quickly, shaking her head. Wally hesitates, watching her closely, but the moment she realizes he’s about to pull away entirely, she forces herself to speak.  “I didn’t mind your arm around me”, she clarifies. If anything his touch is warm, grounding. She doesn’t mind it…it feels nice, comforting.

His eyes brighten, relief chasing away the panic. “Yeah?” A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, tentative, as if he worries showing too much happiness would scare her away.

“What was it then?” he asks, and she can feel his eyes on her, searching for an answer beyond what she’s willing to give.

Shrugging, she averts her gaze. “I’m just a little cold, I guess.”

Lie.

Wally might not know everything about her yet, but he knows her. And he knows when she’s holding something back.

Taking off his jacket, he drapes it over her. “Here you go”, he murmurs.

Her breath hitches as he cups her cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. His touch is careful, as if he’s afraid she might pull away. She doesn’t. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

She leans into his touch without thinking, the warmth of his palm spreading through her like the first rays of morning sunlight. For a moment, it’s easy to forget the eerie gaze lingering behind glass, easy to forget the weight of all the things she doesn’t say.

Her lips curl into a small smile. “You worry too much,” she tells him and he’s not entirely sure if he should just drop this or not, but if she’s not willing to talk to him about it, there’s not much he can do.

“When you’re involved, I’d rather worry too much than not worry enough,” Wally admits.

The sincerity in his voice makes her chest tighten. Here he is, the sweetest man she’s ever met and she’s doubting him. She could just ask him about it, but what if he lies to her face? She’d never be able to relax around him again. She’d lose him and she can’t lose him…he’s all she has.

“Thank you. For caring…and for the jacket.”

“You wear it better than I do.”

Y/N raises a brow. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“I doubt that,” he says, leaning in with a teasing glint in his eyes. She scoffs, making him laugh. Whenever he flirts, Y/N scoffs in response yet she never leaves his side. Scoffing might be her love language and if his theory is true, Wally will gladly spend the rest of eternity listening to her scoff at his cheesy pick-up lines.

Relishing in the light pink tint upon her cheeks, Wally offers her his hand. “Would you like to dance with me?”

Squinting at his question, she inhales sharply. “Dance…to what?”

“We don’t need music to dance,” he smirks. “Live a little.”

“I’m literally dead,” she reminds him. “As are you.”

“And yet we’re here.”

She hesitates, then places her hand in his. He pulls her close, guiding her in slow circles. Their bodies brush, lingering a little too long.

"You’re not bad at this," she murmurs.

He smirks. "Don’t sound so surprised."

She rolls her eyes, but her heart isn’t in it. Not when his thumb traces small circles on the back of her hand.

“You always roll your eyes at me,” he states. “Why is that?”

“How honest do you want me to be?”

“Brutally,” he replies instantly.

Drawing in a deep breath, she can’t help the smile spreading across her lips. “You make me nervous.”

“Oh.”

“In a good way”, she admits. “In a way I’m not sure I’m ready to accept yet.”

Grinning, Wally nods. “Okay. I can work with that.”

Rolling her eyes – another part of her love language. Wally won’t forget that anytime soon.

Erasing the distance between their bodies, she leans her head on his chest, her arms wrapping around him. She closes her eyes, inhaling deeply – committing his scent to memory. He smells like laundry detergent and freshly mowed grass…clean and fresh.

Pressing a soft kiss on top of her head, Wally couldn’t suppress his smile even if he tried. He’s happy. For the first time in a long time, he’s truly happy. Humming a soft tune, he continues swaying their bodies in this slow dance, cherishing every moment they spend close for you never know when everything might change.

He learned that lesson the hard way.

[delulustateofmind]

Sighhhhhhh

TW: Yandere behaviors, kidnapping, drugging, mentions of infidelity

Thinking about milfs again. The kind whose husbands are always away, too busy with business trips, too preoccupied with secretaries calling at ungodly hours. The kind who spend their lonely nights dreaming of someone to dote on, someone to eat the meals they pour their love into, someone to snuggle against in their mountain of plush pillows and cashmere throws from their endless shopping sprees. Someone to dress up, swathed in lace and silk, all soft fabrics and delicate frills, a perfect little doll for their wandering hands and insatiable need to nurture.

So, naturally, the yandere milf finds herself a poor little college student from book club - so polite, so studious, so easily led. It starts with an invitation, just something innocent: "Come over, sweetheart. I made cookies, and I know you'll just adore my personal library." Her voice warm, her smile harmless, and how could you ever say no?

The books she hands you lean toward themes of devotion, of care, of surrender, nothing alarming at first, not until the tea she serves tastes just a little too floral, just a little too bitter. A strange numbness coats your tongue, your limbs growing sluggish as the pages blur before you. And then, before you can even think to protest, you slump forward - straight into her soft, waiting embrace.

She hums, stroking your hair as she cradles you against her large plush chest, her voice laced with saccharine adoration. "Oh, my poor, tired thing… I knew you needed someone to take care of you." Pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead while your vision tunes out.

"Shh, don’t struggle, love. Just let me handle everything." And she does. She makes sure the cuffs are lined with the softest silk, that every meal is spoon-fed with tender coos and doting praises. If you make a mess - oh, silly thing, how clumsy - you’ll just have to let her clean you up. Her hands linger on intimate places a little too long, but she only chuckles, wiping the corner of your lips with her thumb.

And then, there are the times when it gets to be too much. When she insists you wear the deep red lipstick her husband’s secretaries wear, even though it stains like blood against your skin. "Just humor me, darling," she sighs, tracing the outline of your lips with a delicate hand before pressing the tube into your palm. "You’ll look so lovely, so grown-up."

But it's not about how you look. No, it's about how it smudges when she kisses you, when she presses her lips hungrily against yours, leaving messy, smeared stains across your cheeks, your jaw, your neck. It’s about marking you in a way that no one else - especially not him - ever will.

With a panting breath escaping her lips as she breaks away, a soft hand with a tight grip grazes your jaw as she tilts your chin up, admiring her work, her perfect little doll. "There," she whispers, eyes dark and hungry. "Now look how pretty you are"

[4lexnilsen]

alex doesn’t elaborate any further on his feelings,  but doesn’t completely barricade his heart either this time.   they’ve been through hell and back together tonight.   he’s put her through hell…   he can’t keep going like this,  doesn’t have the energy for it.   a small smile breaks across his features at the explanation,  his elbow gently bumping against her side as he teases,   “and there i was,  thinking it was meant for harry’s face.”   war and peace worked wonders,  though.   over a thousand pages and hardcover?   he wouldn’t be surprised if that big nose of his was broken,  after all.   “same.   i don’t find bars particularly interesting or stimulating so i always bring a book,”   he explains shyly,  seeing helena’s reaction and how it matches his own,  and feeling a sense of togetherness once more.   there’s a faint connection rekindling,  and it frightens him in a way.   he doesn’t deserve her.   he shouldn’t be feeling like this.   “i prefer cafes and bakeries over bars and clubs.   i’m boring like that.”   it’s something sarah said to him a while back,  and he can’t help but agree —   he isn’t the life of the party.

“well,  i feel very out of my element right now.   don’t look towards the pool table.   strange things happening over there,”   he laughs softly,  for the first time since they left the ice skating rink.   a look of surprise overtaking his features when she decides to trust him and takes his hand,  lengthy fingers curling around her own,  squeezing gently,  apologetically.   their surroundings are…   eerie,  to say the least.   and there’s so much cigarette smoke in the air that alex can barely breathe without coughing,  but he smiles at helena all the same.   “the only thing that actually does look great here,  and it tastes good,  too.”   he takes another sip,  letting the sweet,  fruity beverage linger a little longer on his tongue before swallowing.   he didn’t think it could be this delicious,  not in a place that looks like a drug den.   “i always say that virgin drinks taste way better than the spiked ones.   i mean,  who genuinely likes the taste of vodka or tequila or something?   gross.”   he grimaces,  licking some of the sugar off the rim.   

by the time he sets the glass back on the bar,  half of its contents is gone,  and his eyes are focused solely on helena.   watching with sheer fascination as she rummages through her kits and offering,   “can i help you take care of that cut?”   he reaches a hesitant hand out,  tucking the strands of hair that got pulled out of her braid behind her ear.   the bow is barely hanging on and so he carefully removes and places it on the counter in front of her.   “what’s that?”   he wonders,  taken aback by her kindness,  shaking his head because he feels like he doesn’t deserve it but turning to face her at the same time.   there are tears in his eyes again,  and if she asks,  he’ll blame them on the smoke but it’s just…   these little acts of kindness make his heart beat differently.   “why are you so good to me?”   he whispers,  pouting to expose the cut to her fingers.   “you know,  this is technically the second time you’re tending to my injuries.   hopefully,  there won’t be a third.”

did he really just go about admitting that? the words still rotating inside helena's mind at the fact he's turned another shade and she has to dwell on this drastic switch up. mind torn in even more conflicted places, she wonders how she's supposed to forgive him but obviously she can't discredit him for admitting the reasonings why he had to act like that towards her, but why did he have to at all? brows scrunched, dwelling while they're pulling up to the spot he picks. "it is a hammer. a mini one. i thought i'd need it for . . ." multi-purposes. "breaking a hole in the window?" or the door, if she really had to. "are you? so would i. if–– i actually went to bars more often." an awkward laugh, staring out her window, eyes growing sadder at the katy perry song that can provoke a lot of emotions whether one can relate or not.

once he leaves his side of the car, helena turns to reach back into the backseat of the mustang. taking her purple makeup bag AND first-aid kit box out from underneath the seat, shifting back around, the buckle clicks and her seatbelt flies off. flinching at the surprise of her door coming open, raven haired girl halts momentarily, brown eyes falling on his hand . . . gaping at it like it was a surreal thing and not just an offered hand.

eventually, after her brief pause, she moves and her feet touch the ground. taking the hand and standing up from her seat, "thanks." smiling in surprise, she'll definitely have to take care of his lip, hopefully something will be in her box. "wow, check out this place." glancing around her surroundings, certainly nothing she's ever been used to. her dad would be furious right now. some suspicious looking burly men in each corner, crass women over by the pool table, she quickly looks away from when the motorcycle biker guy behind her has his hands all over her and helena's eyesight goes right to it. setting up her work station once alex helps her sit, opening the first aid kit and makeup box, she's digging into the first aid when the drinks are placed down. surprisingly appearing delicious. "that looks really good." eagerly taking it, before pausing, is she really trusting they didn't put something in her drink though? hardly . . . but what's one more risk tonight. "yeah, WHAT a night." the strawberry flavor easily becomes addicting so she's taking another sip before pausing on it for a bit. "your lip could definitely use some of this." pulling out the neosporin lip ointment, squeezing some onto her finger tip, "here." helena announces, waiting for him to turn towards her.

[gogandmagog]

Anne of the Island, by L.M. Montgomery

Anne of the Island, Chapter Three!

Here comes Redmond! It would be on a Monday, too.

Two things I really, really love: that Di and Anne wanted to drive to the station together, and Anne’s sense of foreboding/little “presentiment” that she was actually leaving Green Gables forever. Of course, we readers know this to be true, but we thankfully have the advantage of knowing yet another truth... that yes, Anne can be happy somewhere else. I also wonder how much of Anne’s foresight is linked, in terms of the bends-in-the-road, to the appeal and/or dread of the ferry itself (as last time she was a passenger, it brought her from the asylum to Green Gables), because it seems to be the very vehicle of Anne’s shifting futures.

“Dora […] was one of those fortunate creatures who are seldom disturbed by anything.” Funny. I can’t tell if this is supposed to be her natural-born disposition or if it’s a defense mechanism learned by way of necessity, on account of having Davy for a brother.

Something else (of virtual inconsequence) that I like to note about the boat interlude, is that Anne’s internal monologue demonstrates clear annoyance towards Charlie, supposing that he’d be only pretending to be sentimental about watching PEI disappear from their sight... when only one or two lines later, it’s Gilbert that’s actually openly unsentimentally commenting, “Well, we’re off!” But Anne is somehow rather fine with that, lmao. I suppose it’s just the pretense that bugs her. Or maybe it’s the pretense of Charlie being able to relate to her feelings that bugs her? Meanwhile, there’s zero pretense in Anne’s ability to comfortably share her truest feelings with Gilbert. Cute!

That Gilbert’s not-so-very-sentimental over leaving Avonlea is not particularly strange, either. He is 21, and he has been largely out of his parents home, experiencing self-reliance, for over a year now, while boarding and teaching at White Sands. The age gap between Anne and Gilbert is nearly always negligible, but here in this one book I do think it’s occasionally a little glaring. Anne’s just a wee and nervous fledgling, dipping a pinky toe into the pool of independence, where as Gilbert’s wings are strong, and already maturely developed. 

Anne of the Island, Chapter Four!

Anne of the Island, by L.M. Montgomery

Every time I read this chapter, I’m reminded of the main difference between Anne of Windy Poplars and Anne of Windy Willows… which is that the Canadian publisher, for Windy Poplars, was mighty concerned about Maud’s fixation on graves and cemeteries and gruesome deaths throughout the text, and asked for quite a lot of it to be cut out. The English (Windy Willows, that is), however, really said doooon’t care. 🤓

Much respect and credit due to the Montgomery scholars, who have over the years hunted up and presented the following photos of Old St. Paul’s Burying Ground in Halifax, as close as possible to how it would’ve looked, for Anne and Pris and Phil.

Pris feeling like an ‘elephant’ at registration because of her considerable height, besides just making me sad for her, is always a source of curiosity for me. Anne is tall too... but she is proud of this, and when people speak of Anne being tall, it’s always in a tone of admiration. So, I wager we can guess that Pris must dwarf Anne’s tall? In the 1880s, historical data generalises that the average Canadian woman was 160 cm or 5’3[ish]. Anne, being ‘tall’, was probably 165 cm or 5’5, soooo Pris, markedly feeling enormous, maybe 172 cm? 5’8? This would be boyishly tall, since the average man of this time-period was the same 172 cm or 5'8.

Phil! ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Btw who’s gonna take one for the team and dream up an “Anne of Mount Holly” fic, an (obvious) AU where Anne’s mum Bertha and Phil’s mum were pals (since they’re from the same city, after all), and it ends up it’s actually the Gordon’s that take Anne in, when her parents pass. An Anne from luxury, instead of an asylum.

“Thanks,” laughed Anne, “but Priscilla and I are so firmly convinced of our own good looks that we don’t need any assurance about them, so you needn’t trouble.” How far Anne has come. I think of that Louisa May Alcott quote, “love is a great beautifier.” Maud also leans heavily into love as transformative/beautifier for so many of her girls, and imo this is a pretty great message and overall universal truth, security and kindness giving way to confidence.

Okay, but between the two, as described, am I on crack or is the obvious choice not Alec? Or maybe I’m prejudiced against the name Alonzo, as well.

Anne going cold on Phil the second she mentions finding Gilbert ‘really handsome’ is soooy charmingly Anneish. Bonus points to Pris here, because evidentially she knew to begin preparing to leave in that moment too. Girlish solidarity.

The connection between Phil and Ruby is yet another point of interest to me. They share nearly the very same lines, sometimes, here specifically when we march steadily backwards to Anne of Green Gables when of Ruby the narrative asserts for her, "Frank Stockley had lots more dash and go, but then he wasn’t half as good-looking as Gilbert and she really couldn’t decide which she liked best!" Compared of course to Phil’s, “I like them both so much that I really don’t know which I like the better.”

Anne of the Island, Chapter Five!

Anne of the Island, by L.M. Montgomery

Gilbert Blythe is good at everything he puts the tiniest amount of effort into. 😌😌😌😌😌😌😌😌😌 He’s class president, he’s football captain, and he’s singled out among the other members of the freshman class, to join a frat. Niiiiice. I know I’ve totally yapped about it before, but I think it’s wildly intriguing that Maud put Gilbert into Lamba Theta, when irl there were only three frats existing across all of Canada. Even when she attended Dalhousie, almost two decades after Anne and Gilbert attend Redmond. Small potatoes Dalhousie wouldn’t have a proper frat until 1923. So, I’m dying to know where from she gathered her frat info, especially as she’s obviously familiar with hazing/initiation processes. Elsewhere, the good news is: a Victorian-era frat was a legitimate intellectual and debate society, not a collection of dudebros in Sperrys, having beer pong championships at 9 am on a Tuesday.

“Gilbert Blythe won’t take any notice of me, except to look at me as if I were a nice little kitten he’d like to pat. Too well I know the reason. I owe you a grudge, Queen Anne.” Gilbert Blythe also has tunnel vision. You can line up every single one of the above ^ accolades, but none of them hold as strong or are even half so appealing as this; Gilbert’s capacity for fidelity. Phil’s the best-looking girl in her class, and besides which is also enormously clever and funny and affluent, and yet her attempts (“won’t take any notice of me” implies that Phil did try, and did seek said attention) fall flat. His heart has been spoken for since he was 13, you see.

Officially entering ‘Queen Anne’ 👑 into the registry of Anneisms.

"Even the grumpy old professor of Mathematics, who detested coeds, and had bitterly opposed their admission to Redmond, couldn’t floor her [Phil]." This was reputedly a real fellow iirc. In a magazine article from I think, 1912, A. Wylie Mahon published a review of Anne of the Island, in which he stated emphatically that “Redmond College is Dalhousie University” (true) and that the 'grumpy old professor of Mathematics, who detested coeds,' “was known to the students of his day as ‘Charlie'...” (possibly true).

“I don’t believe any but fools enter the ministry nowadays,” she wrote bitterly. PFFFT 😭😭😭 I laugh every time I read this letter. I wish I could correspond with Mrs Rachel.

I do wish I could forget about the ugly ‘big black man’ story that Davy shares, but is anyone familiar with “the old Harry” he refers to? 🧐 I’ve never been able to tell if this is a Mi’kmaq Gugwe reference or if it’s just supposed to mean literally like… some guy… named Harry. Orr?

[blackjackkent]

Thus ends Rakha's story, which I am deeply gratified to realize has ended very softly and positively. To quote Charles Dickens:

It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.

As the night begins to fade down into quiet, she finds Withers paging slowly through a book in the ruins near the clearing. He gives her a slow sideways look.

"This one night," he says gravely, "is like any other... and yet... different." He closes the book deliberately and sets it down, turning to face her.

"Thou art the savior of Baldur's Gate... until such time as it requires saving again. How dost thou feel?"

Rakha draws a long breath slowly and then lets it out. The answer still feels strange to say aloud, as strange as the life that she is living, quiet and steady, day in and day out.

"I'm proud," she says quietly. "You gave me a new life, another chance. I did my best with it."

Withers makes a soft humming noise that is almost but not quite a laugh. "I am pleased to hear it," he murmurs. "The satisfaction of one's intention is, to my surprise, a rare accomplishment." He gestures with one skeletal hand back towards the door behind her. "Enjoy the revelry of the day. Thou deservest at least that much."

Rakha hesitates. The night is winding down and she has little left to say, her energy fading, the desire rising to retreat into solitude. But she has been to few enough parties that she is unsure of the steps. "I think I've caught up with everyone," she says slowly. "What comes next?"

Withers' lips curl in a slight smile. "What indeed," he says, and moves past her out into the open air. "Prick up thy ears and listen."

-----

He gathers them all out in the center of the clearing, next to the long spread of food not yet eaten.

"Hear me!" he calls, his voice resonating through the night air. "Thou heros, wastrels... friends. I have waited long to tell you these words."

"it is over... for now." A flicker of amusement touches his desiccated features. "Thou played thy part in weaving the fabric of fate itself. But for every thread you sewed, so did the gods unravel another. Sleep, rest, revel - for thou mayest yet be needed."

Rakha listens quietly to the speech. Perhaps he speaks the truth - but she hopes not. She is done with her adventures, and it would take the world ending again to convince her otherwise.

But she suspects this part of the speech is not fully meant for her, as he turns next and focuses his eyes on her as he speaks again.

"Until we meet again," he says gravely, "I wish thee every possible fortune. Health. Wealth. Love. And above all... problems worth solving."

Rakha considers this, then slowly raises her glass with a quiet smile. To that, she will happily drink. All of the short life she remembers, she has wanted nothing more than this. To find answers to her questions, to see the light of the Weave on her skin, and to see the work that needs doing and do it.

Attack with purpose, she told herself, when attacking was all that she knew how to do. But there is more now, more to life than that.

There are problems worth solving ahead of her, because of the people here and the help they have given her in climbing out of the dark and shedding the brutal fate she was born to.

"To all of you," she says abruptly, looking around, meeting each pair of eyes one by one. "My real family."

Each glass lifts in her direction in answer, including Withers'; he meets her gaze last of all and raises his goblet like a salute.

"To you," he says.

[fakeagatha]

Mrs Fletcher | Prof!Eve Fletcher x Fem!Reader | Chapter Six: Sore Tongue

Summary: Eve shows up to the university with an unexpected change.

A/N: This is probably the longest chapter I've written so far, even though the word count isn't that high. I'm quite proud of myself for posting another chapter so soon after chapter five! Anyway, please enjoy.

Warnings: Implied NSFW, Needles?, Alcohol

Word Count: 2022

AAA Community

Divine Headcanon Generator

Two days after your "date" with Eve, Monday had made its return and you were heading to leave for class. You didn't feel like it, but honestly, you never do. Checking through some of your books, double checking that your diary was on your desk where it should be, you zipped up your bag and grabbed a couple of pens from your desk.

You felt lucky having a single dorm. It could occasionally get lonely, but at the same time, you were free. You could do whatever you wanted without being watched over, and decorated how you wished, hence to why you had a section of your wall dedicated to pictures. You would stand there and look at them often. Your parents, some pictures with Steve, some of your cousins, but you would linger on a picture of you and your ex girlfriend in the middle, Haley, in the dorm you shared in college. You wanted to forget about her, maybe to feel less guilty about everything, but it wasn't easy.

You shook your head, and left the room, walking to your first class: Latin, an extra class you had chosen to take. It wasn't too far from the dorms, luckily enough. As you entered the floor the class was on, Mrs Fletcher suddenly bumped into you as she was coming out from one of the staff bathrooms.

"Mrs Fletcher! Good morning, sorry for bumping into you." You chuckled, looking up at her, wearing that cute pair of glasses you thought suited her face perfectly.

"Hey Y/N," She replied, and her voice sounded a bit strange. As you spoke, you noticed something. You weren't trying to be creepy by taking a glance into her mouth, you just noticed it from the corner of your eye. Your eyes quickly darted back down to look at her mouth once again just before she managed to close it, trying to confirm what you thought you had just noticed. And it fucking was.

"Mrs Fletcher, what's that?"

Her eyes widened, "No'hing?"

"... No way." You gasped. "Mrs Fletcher, open your mouth."

Eve tilted her head downwards, trying to block your view, "Why?"

"You aren't fooling me!"

Eve couldn't help but smirk at you, looking away sheepishly at having been caught.

"You got a fucking tongue piercing."

Eve laughed a little, "hey, 'anguage!" She warned, playfully sticking out her slightly redder and swollen tongue, with a long silver bar. "I got a 'ittle 'ealous of your eye'row." She pointed to your piercing, which you actually forget is there because of how long you've had it. "I wa' fee'ing... rebe'ious. Go' i' done after our coffee. I wa' very swollen yester'ay, I'm jus' surprised I 'an speak a'ready!"

You couldn't help but smile like an idiot, who would've thought that your 45 year old professor would get a tongue piercing, of all things?

"Speak? I'm only just barely understanding you miss. How are you going to teach your classes?" You chuckle, "Are you even allowed to have a tongue piercing?"

Eve grinned, clanking the jewelry against the back of her teeth, "I don' know, an' proba'y not.

"Is that why you said you had somewhere to be on Saturday? You realized you were going to be late for your appointment?" You giggled, looking at her in amusement every time she spoke.

"Yah! I go' there late!" She exclaimed, making you laugh again, a sound Eve actually loved hearing. "I' was very scary, I don' like need'es."

You bit your lip, "That looks so painful though, I didn't take you for someone to do through with a tongue piercing." You joked, making Eve chuckle and nod in response.

As Eve tried to ramble on about how nervous she was, almost oversharing the nervous poop she had beforehand, you cut her off, "I don't want you to irritate it, why don't you tell me all about it tomorrow so you don't accidentally hurt yourself?" You offered, and Eve couldn't help but blush at your consideration. She nodded, poking her tongue out one final time before heading down the hallway.

Well, that just might have been the hottest thing you had seen in a while, and certainly NOT what you expected at 9am on a Monday morning.

Steve sneaked up behind you, attempting to scare you as if you hadn't already noticed him. He frowned in disappointment, and you put your finger to your lips.

"Don't go telling everyone but... If you, hypothetically, had to guess where Mrs Fletcher would choose to get a piercing, where do you think it would be?"

He looked at you in confusion, before smirking. "Definitely, her ni-"

"Don't."

"Fine. I don't know, her nostril or something?" He shrugged, and you shook your head.

"Tongue."

"Ouch, but-" His eyes widened in realization, looking at you for confirmation, "She didn't, there's no way, you're pranking me. I don't know why you'd choose that for a prank, it's a little weird-"

"Steve, I'm not joking."

He looked at you in silence, almost as if contemplating whether to believe you or not. "For real?"

"For real."

He started to laugh, and you joined in. It was so random, and any other person wouldn't believe you. Everyone knows that Mrs Fletcher is innocent (on the outside), and no one would imagine, not even in one hundred years, that she would do something so insane as a tongue piercing, especially since she once shared with one of her classes that she cried at 38 years old because she had to have blood drawn.

"Okay, I got to get to class, we'll talk later." You waved goodbye, and Steve headed into the opposite direction.

The rest of your classes went by pretty smoothly. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood, which was unusual. Normally you have to deal with at least one snarky comment or insult a day, whether it be from a classmate, or Mrs Evanora. Before leaving, you popped your head into Eve's open office door.

"See you tomorrow, Mrs Fletcher." You smiled, and she gave you a kind wave, indicating she probably couldn't really speak.

Eve finished her own work about an hour later, and took the drive back to her house, the thought of her bed being very irresistible.

She pulled up outside, and took a few minutes to water her flowers, admiring the rose bush that had started to bloom. She went inside and quickly replaced her work heels with a pair of slippers that were way too big for her.

She made her way to the bathroom, and swished some cold water through her mouth to soothe her tongue, unable to stop checking herself out in the mirror every now and then, making ridiculous poses, fantasizing herself as a tongue model. Wait, did those even exist?

She quickly changed into a gray tank top with some shorts, and got into bed. She opened up her laptop, and couldn't resist browsing online, looking at some things she probably wouldn't want anyone to know she was watching.

Sleep eventually overtook her, as she went into a slumber she so desperately needed, even though her day wasn't as tiring as it sometimes was. And, as if no time at all had passed, she woke up to her alarm blaring into her eardrums.

17:56

'How and when did two hours pass?'

Testing her speech, Eve found herself being able to talk again, to a comprehensible point at least, so after a brief phone call and her voice still groggy, she changed into a bikini with a plain black dress on top to head over to Amanda's house to relax in her jacuzzi for the evening.

Even at the last minute, Amanda was rarely busy in the evenings and was always open to a meet up, even if it's just for a chat. Eve doesn't understand how she does it, but she admires it, a little jealous of her social battery and availability, even.

It was already dark out as she stepped into her car, regretting not taking a jacket beforehand even though it wasn't that cold, but she really couldn't be bothered to go back inside to get one. She started the engine and turned up the heat a little bit, just to warm up the vehicle.

The drive to Amanda's was only around ten minutes, since she didn't live too far away from Eve, making it convenient to have wine nights together. She knocked on the door, pulling her friend into a hug upon greeting each other.

"Come in, mind turning on the jacuzzi? I'll bring us some wine." Amanda grinned, heading into the kitchen. Eve nodded, walking to the balcony window and stepping into Amanda's back yard. Despite the fact that the woman lived alone, her house was quite big, hence the big outdoor space.

Eve looked towards the side of the jacuzzi, and turned it on, watching as the bubbles began to form. She stripped herself from her dress and took off her heels, stepping into the warm bubbly water, letting out a sigh at the warmth which replaced the cold evening air on her skin.

Amanda came outside a few moments later, a bottle of wine, two glasses and a bowl of Cheez Its in her hands. Eve quickly stepped back out to help her, "You're going to drop something!" She mused.

"I don't like having to take multiple trips. If my hands can carry them, I carry them." Amanda replied, smirking, and Eve rolled her eyes as she helped her place everything onto the the jacuzzi wall.

They stepped back in together, and Amanda made a similar sound of pleasure at the warm water.

Anything new at the senior home?" She inquired, and Amanda shrugged,

"Poor Shirley had a fall, which startled Brenda so much she had a heart attack." Amanda sighed, looking almost unfazed.

"That's..." Eve froze, looking up at her friend with wide eyes, "Tragic?"

Amanda laughed, nodding, swaying her hand through the water.

"Why don't you come work full time at the university instead? If you'd prefer?" Eve suggested, sliding over to sit next to her.

"I don't think I'd work full time stocking up the library, the old people are way more interesting. Unless it completely shuts down, I'll stick with part time at the uni." She she shrugged, and the woman next to her nodded in understanding. "Besides, what's going on with that teacher's pet of yours?" Amanda teased, and Eve shoved her.

"Don't say that." She laughed, "But... She might have treated me to a coffee, or well, tried to. I paid for her when she wasn't looking."

Amanda's jaw dropped, setting her wine glass down to cover her mouth. "What?!" 

Eve nodded, giggling. "Yeah, I was there with some coworkers and she was having lunch with her friend behind us, and as I was about to leave, she asked me to stay for another drink." She explained further, making Amanda look even more excited with every word.

"Are you living in a book or something?" 

"I think I might be."

Amanda smirked at her, moving her arms to rest them on the wall, before wincing.

 "Ugh, my hand is still bruised because of you." She groaned, and Eve put her own hands up in defense.

"Hey, you offered!"

"Yeah, to distract you from the pain, you started squeezing the life out of my hand before the needle even reached you!"

"Okay but still, it was so worth it." Eve stuck her tongue out for emphasis, showing off the jewelry.

"The swelling has gone down so much!" Amanda exclaimed in surprise, making Eve nod excitedly.

"Yeah, before you know it, I can change it to that vibrating jewelry I found on Etsy last week-"

"Eve!"

"Sorry!"

Amanda shook her head, sighing, "What did she think of it?"

Eve's cheeks reddened, giving her a smirk. "Oh, she noticed immediately. Before anyone else did. I know I shouldn't have it in the working environment, so I am a little worried now..."

Amanda clicked her tongue, looking towards Eve's mouth again, "Well, if anyone calls you out, say they're a pervert for looking there."

"At my tongue?" She laughed, and the other woman nodded.

"Yes!"

Eve rolled her eyes at her antics, listening as she randomly began to talk about some of the trash she had to clean up at the university library, even though it wasn't part of her job. The night went on, and it didn't take long for the pair of them to become tipsy on a single bottle of wine.

[varian212]

I came across your comment by accident, honestly. Over time, I’ve made it a habit not to follow too closely what’s being said online about the books I love; I know I’ll find opinions that will make me write way too much.

But that was my mistake, for checking the A Little Life tag. Foolish me, hoping someone had made some fan art or an interesting post. Instead, I stumbled upon what you wrote.

The following lines are not just for you but for everyone who shares your perspective. So take a seat, and don’t hesitate to respond with the same level of engagement that I’ve put into this.

I think you’re so absurd in your post, it’s almost worrying.

A Little Life is not just a book about homosexuals, Jude is not just a homosexual, and the story is not just about sexuality. It’s a book about people’s lives, with both good and bad stuff happening. And don't come here an say that there weren't any good moments, that'll only show me how your brain is fixed on one thing (hating the book) and it's blinded by everything else.

And welcome to Earth, where Hanya doesn’t need to make gay men suffer, that already happens. I invite you in Rusia for a weekend,do you know what would happen to you if,as a man,you'll walk on the streets wearing girly clothes or makeup? And I don't mean you'll get cat called; that's literally the best case scenario.

But your post only shows how privileged you are, how protected you are from what happens in this world. Turn on the TV, read articles, watch the news – do you think Hanya invented these kinds of monsters, these kinds of traumas? I assure you, no, she just wrote about them.

And what a strange thing, to bring up sexuality so much. Especially when a good part of Jude’s traumas happened when he was a child, then a teenager.

But your first concern is not "What the hell, how can she write about this kind of stuff happening to a child?" but "What the hell, this author has a fetish for gay people." As if, for you, it’s more important that Jude is gay than that he is human .

There are so many books like this but where the main characters are women and no one says anything. Guess we are already used to know about them getting raped,assaulted, beaten. Turns out it can happen to everybody.

Your empathy for gay people seems superficial, like the kind that’s only displayed on social media; never vocal in real life.

And you know what's even worse? Your audacity.

Let me tell you a little story : By chance, I am a volunteer for an organization called Save the Children.

Last week, a little girl was brought in, and I had to take care of her. Do you know what the problem was? Two soldiers entered her family house, destroyed everything, and raped her mother in front of her and her two younger brothers.

After her mother lost consciousness, they did the same to the little girl. And they did it so violently that she lost the ability to walk for the rest of her life. A few punches to the left side of her skull resulted in damage to the motor cortex, combined with strangulation, which led to hypoxic brain injuries. That’s all it takes.

I’m not saying this to shock you—I just want you to know that this is just one child out of millions of similar cases. Real life children,real life people.

Will anyone speak up about this? Probably not. Will the military court do anything about those soldiers? In the worst case, they’ll give them a few days off, and then they’ll go right back to doing the same thing.

Again, Hanya Yanagihara (cuz yeah,if you leave a hate comment,have the decency to write her name correctly) didn't invent shit. Those evil people are literally alive and well among us.

Now imagine I go to this child, look at her, and say, "You've been abused too much. What you've been through sounds dreamlike. It sounds like trauma porn, if I’m being honest."

Please read this paragraph again.

Do you see how it sounds? Do you realize how ignorant you are about everything that’s happening? How much comfort you have in your life?

Do you care so much about a woman who wrote about gay people? Why don’t I see you being just as vocal about men who have written about lesbians, white people writing about black people, healthy people writing about those with disabilities?

Why aren’t you just as disturbed by criminals writing about being victims?

Those things happen in real life too,and yet you are more concerned about a book.

Maybe this post will be read up to this point, and maybe it will wake up some of you privileged, upper-class white people commenting on your iPhone 16 Pro Max.

We don’t choose how we are born or what education we can afford up to a certain age, but at some point, it becomes our responsibility to educate ourselves.

Do you know what I do when I hate a book, an idea, or a movie? I learn absolutely everything about it. I get my information from five different sources to make sure it's reliable. I try to reason, to find opinions that contradict mine, as well as those that agree with me. In short, I become so familiar with every detail of what I'm trying to criticize that my arguments are as valid and verifiable as possible. That's what I call effort worth noticing.

If you're gonna be a heater at least pretend to be a smart one.

i could never read a little life, cus its a reminder that just like bi men in gay porn, women are infesting the whole niche of writing about gay male main characters and overrunning actual gay male writer who would love to write about actual gay male character and they also always use those gay male characters to punch down or project their own self. A little life is literally just a het woman writing about a gay man and putting him thru everything to the point it becomes just torture porn and for some even unbelievable to the point of being dreamlike. That writer (hana yanagihari) literally only writes about gay men who were raped in their childhood and suffered their whole life after, she literally wrote the same shit 3 times!!! 3!!!!! She is obsessed with having gay men suffer.

This is always a dead giveaway to me that someone doesn’t conceptualize gay men as actual people so their writing exposes them by showing how they use gay men as archetypes or plot devices to send a message or push an idea which sends me back to the heyes code cus thats their unknown undercover bible.

Like at its core there is no empathy towards gay men.

[fictionadventurer]

The Rosemary Tree is the first time I've had to put down a book so I could sob over how beautiful it was.

[spookygibberish]

Made a faintly insane list of of every animated movie I have good enough memories of to feel confident ranking, although some of them I would probably move around if I saw them more recently....

[azure-clockwork]

How Does it Feel to Read Classic Sci-Fi?

Orson Scott Card: Two of the most interesting books you’ll ever read if you’re willing to look past a handful of things. And then you find the planet of Chinese people who worship having debilitating OCD. And the Mormonism. And the fact that the author is wildly homophobic and ought to read his own books.

Robert Heinlein (or at least the Wikipedia Summaries): I guess that’s a neat concept—oh, it’s a sex thing. Um. Gotcha.

Ray Bradbury: Man, I gotta read this thing for class huh. Well here’s hoping it’s good! *three hours later* oh. that’s why he’s famous. this will stick with me forever and I will never look at the phrase ‘soft rain’ the same again. christ. And then repeat 3x.

Isaac Asimov: Wow, this is such an interesting concept! I wonder how the exploration of it will influence the plot! Wait, hey, are you going to add any characters? Any of em? No like, with character traits other than ‘robot psychologist’ and ‘autistic’ and ‘woman’? None of em? No, ‘detective’ isn’t a character trait. Those are all just facts. Aaaand now I’m bored.

Ursula K. Le Guin: Hah, get a load of this guy! He’s never heard of nonbinary people before. Lol, what a riot; how dumb do you have to be to comprehend that these people aren’t men *or* women actually? Oh, wait, what’s happening. Oh shit, it was about society and love and learning to understand each other? And now I’m crying? And perhaps a better human being for it??

Andy Weir: Alright, this guy’s a really good writer. Funny, creative, knows so much engineering stuff…ooh, a new book! …I guess he can’t write women. Well, he wouldn’t be the first sci-fi writer…ooh another new book! And it’s more engineering problem solving and—wow. It’s not just women he can’t write. Please stop letting your characters talk to each other.

Lois Lowry: Oh, I remember this being fun when I was a kid! Wouldn’t it be fucked up to not see color? …upon reread, it would be fucked up to have your humanity stripped away, replaced with a tepid, beige ‘happiness’ for all time. Yeah.

Tamsyn Muir (let me have this ok): Haha, “lesbian necromancers in space” sounds fun. Lemme read this. Oh wow, yeah, this is right up my alley. OH GOD WHAT. NO. FUCK. OH SHIT WHAT IS EVEN HAPPENING AND WHY IS IT REFERENCING THE BOOK OF RUTH AND HOMESTUCK BACK TO BACK!!! AHHHHHHHHH!! Now give me more please.

[northern-passage]

all of the book recommendations i got for stand alone fantasy:

piranesi, jonathan strange & mr. norrell by susanna clarke

babel by R.F. kuang

the sword of kaigen, blood over bright haven by M.L. wang

house of hunger by alexis henderson

dark lord of derkholm by diana wynne jones

the raven tower by ann leckie

starless by jacqueline carey

the goblin emperor by katherine addison

spinning silver by naomi novik

dreamsnake by vonda mcintyre

juniper & thorn (and other books) by ava reid

[aroaessidhe]

2023 reads

The Deep Sky

scifi mystery thriller

on a deep space mission traveling from an environmentally devastated earth with hope to restart humanity elsewhere

when they’re halfway, an explosion kills 3 crew and pushes them off course

the only witness is the Alternate who has no specific role, and she has to figure out who caused it & if they might continue to sabotage, while they're figuring out a way to get back on course with limited resources

flips between present and the past: of her childhood and training for the mission, her identity struggles, and relationship with her mother

questions the ethics of ‘restarting’ humanity elsewhere vs putting resources into fixing earth