#i pulled quotes from the novel for this post

[unexpectedgeese]

Thinking about ORV epilogue and looking back and Orpheus parallels. Obvs the first instance of this is when they’re stepping off of the train, but that’s not the bit that interests me: it’s what comes after.

Kimcom realizes that their Kim Dokja is an avatar because they’re ‘looking back’ on the past (a.k.a. Reminiscing abt past memories). But then the part most reminiscent of the dive into the underworld comes after that, when they repeat the scenarios, which is ALSO a form of looking back. But this time the tragedy is the wall that they can’t break through, which is different but also the same as every other time. 

It’s like. You can only bring someone back from the dead if you don’t look at them because it’s not real. You have written a story with no reader, you have forced your narrative onto an unwilling participant. The thing you’ve brought back is the parts of them you know, but there’s so much more to a person than that– so if you look too close, they’ll just… dissolve. 

BUT THEN. ORV is written. And the reason it works– the reason KDJ can come back– is because it’s not an attempt to make KDJ come back at all. It’s an attempt to let him choose. It’s not a denial of his sacrifice, but an epilogue. (You can’t rewrite a story, after all). We cannot go back, but we can go forward. It’s an olive branch distilled into the medium he’s most comfortable with, and an attempt to not break the wall, but speak through it.

There’s something about the symmetry of that, ya know? This is the second book a loved one has written about Kim Dokja’s life, but this time, it’s not an attempt to rewrite history. Just to tell it.

[awearywritersworld]

do not leave me in this abyss, where i cannot find you

sukuna x reader summary: the higher ups succeed in kidnapping you and sukuna doesn't know if he'll get you back alive. w/c: 2.85k tags/warnings: fluff and angst. reader is kidnapped and gravely injured. depictions of blood. canon typical violence. "good girl". cursing. ft gojo. aged up!yuuji. fem!reader. not canon compliant. no use of y/n. *please mind the warnings for this chapter* a/n: and finally folks, we've reached the climax of the series. there will only be one more official chapter after this one, so i hope this lives up to expectations. this could maybe be read as a stand alone, but it's certainly better when serving as a culmination to the other chapters. i'm a little nervous posting this, so i'd love to hear your thoughts :) series masterlist // masterlist

brontë

sukuna isn't sure at first why the name is familiar, but he soon realizes that a great many of the books on your shelf are authored by women of that name, including jane eyre.

though he finds your copy of wuthering heights, written by an emily brontë, tucked away in the drawer of your nightstand, the headphones you'd asked him grab lying on top of it.

he pulls the book from its spot with care, as the cover is worn and frayed at the edges. flipping through the pages, there are quite a few quotes underlined and countless scribbles in the margins.

while you'd forced him to read jane eyre, he tucks wuthering heights under his arm of his own volition. he isn't sure if it's because you've kept this one separate from the others, or because it might give him an opportunity to know you better, or because he's positive it will make you happy, but he does it all the same.

when he steps back into the living room, he drops your headphones in your lap and takes the seat beside you, wasting no time in beginning the first chapter.

"what've you got there?" you eventually question, even though you know the answer.

he doesn't spare you a glance when he responds, "a book."

"oh, yeah? what kind of book?"

he elects to ignore you, which only serves to encourage your mischievous tone. "i thought romance novels were beneath you and your refined taste."

finally looking at you, he narrows his eyes at your childish taunt. "do you want me to read it or not?"

"of course—"

"then i suggest you be a good girl and behave yourself."

your mouth snaps shut so abruptly that your teeth click as they meet, something sukuna takes note of with a raised brow. you're thankful when he returns to reading rather than saying anything more.

so without any additional interruptions, he delves into the tragic story of heathcliff and catherine. or more precisely, the pain and destruction that follows it.

the further he reads, the better he discerns that while you seem to have a penchant for the brontë sisters, they seem to have a penchant for writing about men that are wicked and callous.

the very notion makes him chuckle.

maybe it explains why he's sitting here with your feet in his lap, while you try and fail (rather cutely) to stifle your giggles at some stupid youtube video.

"what?" you ask, taking out one of your headphones once you notice he's staring at you with a small smile.

"nothing. just enjoying the story."

the way you beam in response makes his mouth go dry.

"hah! i knew it! you're a romantic at heart."

you make a big show of pressing your hands to your chest and swooning.

"settle down there," he chides, his hand patting your thigh. "you're getting ahead of yourself."

two days later, sukuna feels that something isn't quite right. it's barely perceptible, nothing more than a minute shift in the atmosphere, but it grows more palpable as time stretches on.

yuuji's mission takes him farther from home than usual, to a little town about two hours outside of the city.

the curse he exorcises upon his arrival is much weaker than he's grown accustomed to, probably only a third or fourth grade.

yuuji doesn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, or at least, he pretends not to. sukuna thinks that's the problem with optimists— they don't take action quickly enough, too busy wasting their time hoping for the best.

when he returns home late that afternoon only to find your apartment door slightly ajar, his hand hesitates before pushing it open.

he discovers that the living room is littered with residuals, but it's eerie how nothing else is out of place... save for you, who is no where to be found.

in a disbelieving panic, he begins checking all the rooms, not hearing sukuna's frantic voice even though it's coming from inside his own head. "she's not here... idiot, she's not here. we have to go. we have to go now."

he eventually finds a note lying on the coffee table, but even this he hardly processes— something about surrendering himself and sukuna to the higher ups at headquarters in exchange for your life.

"listen to me, brat... you're wasting time... idiot!"

"what?" he barks abruptly.

"she isn't far, a couple blocks to the east at most—"

"it doesn't matter. headquarters is to the west. that's where we need to go."

"have you failed to comprehend a single thing i've said about the higher ups?" sukuna sneers. "they'll kill us, then kill her too. she knows too much about jujutsu society. they won't let her live, and that's if she's not... if she isn't already..."

he can't get the word out.

"no... no, they wouldn't..."

"now is not the time for your blind faith in the integrity of others." sukuna tries again and again to assume control of his vessel, and while the force behind it makes yuuji's head pound, it's no use. "for fuck's sake— please, yuuji!"

it's the first time he's heard the curse occupying his body say his actual name or use the word please, and in a strange way, it seems to ground him to some degree.

itadori yuuji has always been uncannily fast, but as soon as he makes his way out onto the street, it's like his feet aren't even touching the pavement. he appears as a blur to the people he passes by and it happens so briefly that they more than likely disregard it as a trick of the light.

the ruby decorating your neck leads them right to you, a low hum of frequency that only sukuna can hear.

yuuji comes to a stop in front of an old warehouse building. there are several wooden boards nailed across the main entrance, which splinter and fall to the earth under the impact of his impatient fist.

although the people down the hall quiet themselves upon hearing the crash, he can still sense their energy. he just can't seem to pick up on yours.

maybe sukuna is wrong? maybe you're not here after all.

"no," comes sukuna's voice, cold and hard. "she's here."

he makes his way down the stretch of hallway and to an open door where he stops, both of his feet planting firmly on the ground. everything appears to be frozen as he stares at ten sorcerers who quietly stare back.

it's clear they were not expecting yuuji, but he knows the higher ups assigned so many sorcerers just in case he did somehow figure out where they brought you.

he recognizes many of their faces and even knows some of their names, their familiarity no doubt intended to discourage him from engaging them.

after a few moments, yuuji's eyes land on your figure— motionless on the floor.

he has to admit, the higher up have put together a fairly sound plan. it's just that there's one small detail they failed to account for.

a curious and constraining sensation erupts from the center of his chest, and yuuji doesn't quite understand what's happening until he registers he's no longer the one in control of his body.

the king of curses remains completely still as he studies you from afar with a slight tilt of his head, his mind refusing to believe the scene right before his eyes.

when the gravity of the situation finally settles in, a gut churning agony blossoms in his stomach and bleeds into every part of his body. every bone. every pore. every vein.

the entirety of him burns, both inside and out.

the air in the room is heavy, overburdened with hostility and raw power. it makes the sorcerers' knees buckle and they nearly collapse beneath the immense pressure.

as sukuna takes a step toward the nearest person, the edges of his vision turn white.

he moves with deadly precision, at a speed which very few people on earth could even begin to comprehend.

it's a joke how quickly it's all over.

some of them are in pieces. others have exploded into nothingness. a few are burnt to ash.

in his haste, sukuna nearly misses the final sorcerer. he's probably the youngest of them all, cowering in the corner of the room. his eyes are wide with horror and his body shakes with fear.

"p-please, spare m-me. i didn't touch her," he sputters out.

the laugh that follows is utterly humorless. "do you actually believe that makes a difference to me?"

"i told t-them not to hurt her! i swear. that's how i got this." he points to his bottom lip, busted open and swollen. "she even told me she was sorry that i got hurt... that i didn't have to defend her."

this gives sukuna pause and his jaw clenches as he considers what you would tell him right now were you conscious.

so even as every fiber of his being screams at him to end the sorcerer's miserable, pathetic life... he restrains himself and pins him to the wall instead, pressing a forearm to his throat.

"go back to the higher ups. go and tell them that if anyone lays a hand on her ever again, i will ruin them," he spits, venom lacing each word. "i'll slaughter every last one of them. i'll level their homes. i'll take everything from them. tell them this is a promise they shouldn't take lightly."

when sukuna takes a step back, the young sorcerer crumbles to the ground. "i- i- i will."

"then get out of my sight," he growls.

returning his attention to you, his demeanor shifts in every respect.

you're going to be okay. you're going to wake up. he's going to take you home and it will be like none of this ever happened.

but when he falls to your side, his knees meeting the ground so brutally that it cracks beneath his weight, his conviction falters.

your blood is spilt onto the concrete. your skin is cold. he can't tell if you're breathing. he can't feel your heartbeat.

he determines that the gash across your side deserves his attention first and his hands tremble as they move to cover it.

he puts every ounce of power he has into his reverse cursed technique, but your eyes don't flutter and your chest doesn't rise nor fall.

his palms stain crimson, and while blood has never bothered him before, the fact that it's yours forces the bile to rise from his stomach and into his throat.

and his face is wet.

why is his face wet?

why are his lips trembling?

why is his vision blurred?

he wipes at his cheeks, leaving a trail of your blood across his face in the process.

"no," he chokes out. "please, don't do this. you're fine. please, you have to be fine. please."

the king of curses begs, but he has no idea who his desperation is directed toward. maybe it's you. maybe it's the gods. maybe it's some entity that's unknowable to him.

hell, maybe it's just whoever will listen to him. there has to be someone out there, right? something.

unbeknownst to him, and poetic in sorrowful sort of a way, his next pleas are reminiscent of heathcliff's after he learns of catherine's death.

"be with me always"

"stay with me, angel. please don't go."

"take any form"

"hate me for this if you want, for being the reason you're in this mess. you can't hate me anymore than i already hate myself."

"drive me mad"

"i'll read every single stupid romance novel on your bookshelf. i promise i'll play all of your ridiculous card games."

"only do not leave me in this abyss, where i cannot find you!"

"just don't leave me here without you. i don't want to be here without you.

"oh, god! it is unutterable!"

"please," he whimpers.

"i cannot live without my life!"

"you're everything. you are everything. you can't leave me with nothing."

"i cannot live without my soul!"

"i love you," sukuna laments. "i love you."

he doesn't even comprehend the words that have been tumbling past his lips, because they're coming from a part of himself that he long believed to be dead and buried.

it's the part of him that can feel suffering and regret and loss and love.

it's the part of him that you've been painstakingly unearthing whenever you send a smile his way. whenever you curl into his side. whenever you press your lips to his.

and he's so undeserving of it each and every time. he's known that. god, has he known that.

he thinks bitterly of the night you'd walked to the park together hand in hand— when you told him the universe had sent you to knock him down a peg.

turns out you were wrong.

the universe gave you to him, but only so it could take you away too.

and it won't just knock him down a peg. it will fucking destroy him. it will completely and irrevocably destroy him.

this is what he does deserve.

how is it that you can be both his salvation and his undoing?

"i love you," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper.

it's ironic that the three words he's never once said in his entire life are the only ones he can manage in this moment.

he hears a quiet sigh escape your lips, but he knows that it's just his imagination— nothing more than the universe playing its final sick joke.

the sun is out and its rays are peeking through the window of your bedroom. sukuna thinks it's despicable.

everything should be cold and dark today.

you're lying in bed half dead and the only thing keeping sukuna's sanity intact is the shallow rise and fall of your chest.

he should go to jujutsu headquarters and deliver a slow, painful death to every single person involved in yesterday's events. then he should turn their headquarters to ash and stand there watching until the wind blows every last bit away.

but more than that, he should be by your side, so that's where he's remained.

it's been nearly a day and you still haven't woken up, so he's taken to performing reverse cursed technique on you every few hours.

yuuji had shoko come by last night and she assured him your body just needs time, but sukuna doesn't intend on taking any chances. aside from the brat, there isn't a single sorcerer he trusts.

so naturally when gojo teleports directly in the middle of your living room unannounced, sukuna moves swiftly to his feet and blocks the doorway to your room.

gojo regards him nonchalantly, hiding his surprise that yuuji is not the one to greet him. "what are you doing... out and about?"

"that's none of your concern."

"right. well, i came to check in."

"that's not necessary."

the two men watch one another carefully, before gojo eventually chuckles. "god, you actually care about her. i guess the whole soul thing should have been proof enough, but i couldn't bring myself to really believe it until now."

sukuna doesn't respond, so the other man continues. "you should know that the threat to her has been... dealt with."

"that so?" sukuna asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"mhmmm. word of this spread to the three clans and they agreed civilians have no place in jujutsu politics if it can be helped. not to mention your little... messenger. it all caused quite the ruckus for the higher ups."

"i don't think ruckus is enough to deter them." his tone makes it clear that he feels gojo is wasting his time.

"this isn't the heian era anymore, you know. the higher ups may still be the figureheads of jujutsu society, but they have little say when all three clans concur on a matter." receiving nothing more than a blank stare, he adds, "besides, i'm rather fond of her myself, so i may or may not have made certain threats of my own."

sukuna's eye twitches. "anything else you feel compelled to share before you leave?"

"can i at least see her before i go?" gojo questions, peering over sukuna's shoulder.

"if you do not value your life, i welcome you to try."

a sly grin breaks out on gojo's face.

"eager to make good on your promise of killing me from all those years ago?" he pauses, his hand coming to rest on his chin as if he's pondering something of great importance. "as much as i'd love to see you try, we shouldn't wake our precious sleeping beauty before she's ready, so maybe another time."

with that, he disappears, leaving a very irritated sukuna in his wake.

"our," he repeats under his breath, shaking his head. "that unbearable imbecile."

when he turns on his heel, however, the malicious look is immediately wiped from his face because you're awake.

you're awake and peering at him from behind heavy lids.

"hey," you greet in a small voice.

his eyes grow impossibly soft and he sits on the bed beside you, his hand moving to caress your cheek. your skin is warm again.

"hey, angel."

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[zaldritzosrose]

Carpe Noctem (Modern Goth!Aemond x Goth!Reader)

Summary: Aemond enjoyed the darker side of life; the morbid, the macabre. He reflected his outside with how he looked on the inside, ignoring the unusual stares he would get from passersby. His world revolved around it, losing himself in dark and fantastical worlds...and then he met you. His real life gothic heroine.

CW: MINORS DNI, afab reader, she/her pronouns, gothic coded reader, gothic Aemond, dark/morbid fantasies, outdoor sex, graveyard sex, mild exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, phone sex, innuendo, profanity, (yes this is probably my truest self insert, sue me), Aemond wishes he could live in a gothic novel.

Words: 4535

Surprise I posted earlier than expected!

Happy Spooky Season! This is my second fic submission to our Fan Frankentober Event (masterlist will be found here) in collab with a few lovely moots! Head over to @fandomeventcenter for more info!

There was a darkness in Aemond. A darkness that had been left unconsidered and unloved until he had met you.

Aemond was a lover of all things macabre and morbid. It had started when he and his family had moved houses, living just a short walk from a cemetery. Horror stories had always fascinated him. Tales told to scare around a campfire or in a darkened room. Stories meant to get the heart racing and the hairs to stand tall on the neck.

The older he got, the deeper he delved. Collections of stories, ranging from the well-known classics to lesser-known fables, lined the walls of his room.

His interests soon followed. His music reflected his darker curiosities, from haunting musical classics to heavier, grungier sounds of heavy metal and gothic rock. And his clothing choices followed not long after, modelling himself after his favourite artists and horror icons. Even covering his injured eye – a mishap in his childhood – with a bespoke leather eyepatch.

Aemond lived his life by the darkness he always felt within.

You had always felt a little outcasted, though some of it was self-inflicted. You preferred solitude, with the only company being the fantastical beings within the pages of your favourite books.

Your love of art and photography helped you channel the morbidity within into something beautiful. Wandering around derelict buildings and darkened graveyards. Styling your images after the scenes in your novels.

Holding an affinity for the tragic heroines and broken damsels in your books, you began to create art of yourself. Posing for timer taken photos in intricate costumes. Collating the photos and creating your very own spooky, fantastical online presence.

That’s where he found you. He had joined the site to follow his favourite authors, artists and musicians. Simply to immerse himself further into the world he enjoyed.

He had been scrolling through posts, mindlessly passing time while his siblings bickered about something or other. And there you were.

It was like you had been pulled from one of the novels on his shelf. The layers of lace that draped over your body, the red as deep as freshly spilled blood. Makeup dark and deathly. Before Aemond knew it, he’d opened your page. Trawling through photo after photo, slowly getting lost in the dark, ethereal draw you seemed to hold.

After weeks of keeping himself updated with your posts, he decided he had to know you. No matter what happened, he had to try.

Tentatively, he opened his messages and, inspired by your ‘Spooky Season’ posts most recently, he chose one of his favoured quotes from Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

“I have crossed oceans of times to find you…your work is beautiful, almost as beautiful as you.”

Aemond could feel his heart beating hard enough he feared it might burst from his chest. Was that too weird? Was he too forward? Would you find him creepy?

There wasn’t much he could do now; the message was out there and deleting it would be even more suspicious.

So, he waited.

Your phone dinged and the message notification surprised you. A message from the username ‘truetooneanother’. You instinctively checked the profile first; it wouldn’t be the first time a stranger had messaged you in response to a photoshoot. Most were harmless, but you were always cautious.

A quick scroll showed almost exactly what you expected from a Frankenstein inspired username. Aesthetic pleasing images of books, his cat, shots out music gigs and records. Even a mix of beautiful photographs of what you guess was where he lived – perfectly framed images of graveyards, lakes, and some of the most gorgeous gothic architecture you had ever laid your eyes on.

But what you wanted, was a picture of whoever this stranger with classic horror knowledge was. And some deeper scrolling came up with your prize. One of few shots of your mystery messenger. A posed photo lit by what you guess was a fireplace or candles. The profile of his face was in main focus, and you were sure you could see what looked like an eyepatch, maybe?

A couple more scrolls and you found a full image of his face and you could have sworn your jaw dropped just a little. There was just something about him that had you intrigued.

Immediately, you reopened his message.

“That’s very kind of you, and how did you manage to choose one of my favourite literary quotes?”

You hit send and waited. Soon, you could see that he had read your message. You were surprised that you felt a flutter of nervousness in your stomach. You had never been like this over a stranger online before. But when your phone pinged again to say he’d sent a message, you were chewing your lip in excitement.

“Because it is my favourite, I can’t count how many times I’ve read Dracula. And your last post inspired it, you looked like you’d fallen from one of its pages.”

You could feel the blush on your cheeks. No one had ever spoken to you that way. Complimenting you without making you feel uncomfortable. Most comments or direct messages were failed attempts at flirting, sexual innuendo or just downright creepiness.

This time it felt different.

“Classic horror is one of my greatest inspirations, everything in those books is pure darkness and fantasy…making it real is a passion. Can I ask your name?”

There was something about the words he chose, the way he wrote his messages that gave you butterflies. How could you be so fascinated about someone you didn’t know?

“Aemond. May I ask yours?”

“Then you manage it perfectly, it suits you.”

Those two messages only made you blush deepen. Why was he having such an effect on you?

You gave him your name, feeling the heat radiating of your cheeks as he continued to compliment you – almost poetically.

You and Aemond continued to talk, moving your messaging from you social media to giving out your phone number. Those messages soon turned to phone calls, his voice bordering on hypnotic. You could barely get enough.

His phone calls were as poetic as his messages. The gentle timbre to his voice would sink into your mind and settle there.

A few more weeks and those phone calls became video chats. Hours spent talking about books, music, films. Where your favourite places were to photograph – for you it was where to set your shoots, for Aemond it was the places he wanted to create art from.

It wasn’t long before things turned a little more…x rated.

Behind the scenes pictures of your photography outings, showing off the variety of corsets, barely there lace dresses you would don for your ideas.

This was how you’d found out Aemond also enjoyed fencing. It was both expected and unexpected. When you’d learned his surname, you realised he came from a pretty well known Westerosi family, so higher class pursuits weren’t too far out of the question.

But the picture he had sent this morning, post training but pre-shower…

It had set your whole body on fire. Silver hair let loose and hanging over his shoulders. Clad only in his white fencing trousers and no shirt. Pale skin, lean torso on show. And his caption had waves of arousal coursing through your body.

He was beautiful. Like a dark character from one of your fantasy novels. It took you a moment to formulate a reply, and what you gave was far from your usual ability.

“Are you trying to kill me off?

You’d ended your message with a couple of emojis, the hot face emoji and the winking face. It wouldn’t be the first time you and Aemond had shared more racy messages, but this had been the first time he’d sent a photo like that.

And your heart was in your throat, desire wet between your thighs when you saw him typing.

“I would never, but nice to know you find me that attractive… you could see this in person if you wanted?”

“Fuck…” you muttered aloud, staring at the screen in disbelief.

A cheeky thought entered your mind. A picture for a picture was only fair, right?

You made sure the angle was perfect, showing off the shape of your body, your hand tucked seductively between your thighs. Your shirt bunched up to show a little skin. You added only a few dirty emojis and one word.

“When?”

Aemond almost dropped his phone when you sent that message back. Between the photo and your message, his skin felt hot, the crotch of his trousers getting tighter the longer he looked at it.

Fuck, you were stunning. Seduction and sensuality personified. His hand was tucked into the waistband of his trousers before he could stop himself. His other frantically messaging you back.

“Next week? You have that graveyard shoot planned right?”

Aemond’s hand shook as he typed. He needed release and he needed you.

“You have no idea what you do to me…I crave you…you have witchcraft on your lips.”

You fingers were like lightning as you replied, your own hand still nestled between your thighs. Part of you wanted to call him, hear his voice talking you through the desire that was thick in your veins. Your fingers dipped beneath your underwear, the ones holding your phone hovering over the call symbol.

And then the phone rang. Aemond’s name flashing on your screen. You barely even said ‘hello’, your voice soft as you dropped back onto your bed.

“Talk to me, please just talk to me…”

Aemond let out a soft chuckle, ending in a groan as his hand settled entirely into his trousers.

“Do you need me, sweet girl? Did my bare chest turn you on that much?” his voice was in that tone you adored.

Low and soft, almost a whisper. It sent a shiver down your spine in the most delicious of ways, settling deep within your core.

“You have no idea. Now I know what you hide under all that black and leather.”

Aemond only hummed in response, the rustling of material telling you exactly what he was doing. But you wanted to hear his voice. The soft sound of his breath told you he was as aroused as you were. Sometimes, the simplest things were enough to get the two of you going.

“Oh, darling, I hide a lot more than that. How badly do you need me?”

The tone, the implication behind his words had you sighing softly, fingers toying with your pearl. Circling softly at just the thought of what the rest of him might look like. You tried to calm yourself, to muster some of the darker more erotic poetry you had read on his recommendation.

“I…oh...I want your lust to tear the flesh of my bones, fuck…and leave me ravaged…”

Aemond felt his good eye roll into the back of his head. Having you read that poetry was one thing, but hearing it fall from your lips and mixed with sounds of pleasure. He could have come there and then.

“And ravage you I will, my darling…”

He could hear the movement of your hand against your body, the faintest sounds of your slickened fingers pushing you closer and closer to orgasm. His own hand working himself furiously at just the thought of having you beneath him, moaning his name. He laid himself entirely back on his bed, his phone on his chest as his hips began to rut up into his hand.

“I’d like to taste you in ways my tongue dare not speak…”

That was all it took to have you softly sighing his name down the phone, your release coming like waves over your body. Aemond followed soon after, rough grunts matching the rhythm of his hand.

Both of you panted as you calmed, the silence falling comfortably until Aemond spoke.

“I can’t wait to meet you.”

The day had come. Months of messages, calls, video chats had all led to this. You were going to see him in the flesh. And he was going to see you.

You had both agreed to meet just as you finished your planned Halloween shoot – a bit on the nose admittedly but you had chosen a graveyard near your hometown with your favourite horror heroines as your style inspiration. Ranging from classics like the Bride of Frankenstein to newer icons such as Morticia Addams. Simply, the shoot was entirely self-indulgent for you.

You knew you wouldn’t miss him. A few friends had come to help you out, setting up the camera, getting changed into another costume and all that. But other than that, the graveyard was relatively quiet.

Your focus remained on the shoot. Remembering your poses, the props, what you envisioned for the final images. But you could see the silver hair in the distance, contrasted against the entirely black palette of his outfit. Aemond kept his distance, leaning against a headstone as he waited patiently for you to be done.

The shoot was done, you had changed into what could only be described as a more casual combination of the costumes from the shoot. A flowy black dress, paired with Victorian inspired boots and a lacy black shawl you’d had since you could remember.

You could see Aemond walking towards you, your friends having long packed up and dispersed – most of them knowing what you had planned afterwards. Nerves set in your stomach.

What if he didn’t like you? What if, despite seeing you through the screen, he was no longer interested?

But all of that disappeared the second he stood in front of you. His long, lean form clad head to toe in layers of black. From the thick wool of his coat to the silken fabric of his shirt and the leather of his boots. That eyepatch laid perfectly over his eye – you had asked what happened and despite being a little unwilling, Aemond explained he’d injured it as a child but said no more. It was almost as though he enjoyed being mysterious.

“Aemond…” you smiled, moving to slip down from your perch on a stone wall.

Your smile only widened when Aemond held out his hand, offering his assistance to help you down. And you took it gladly, letting his fingers wrap around yours without hesitation.

Aemond kept hold of it, toying softly with one of the rings you wore.

“That shoot was truly a sight to behold,” Aemond whispered, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

He knew what it did to you, you knew he did. You were sure that he would choose that tone purposefully in calls to rile you up. And you loved it.

“So, you liked it? Horror Queens wasn’t too obvious for Halloween?”

Aemond laughed, and you let him lead you to a little clearing in the gravestones. Everything felt comfortable, his hand holding yours, the feel of him stood next to you. It just felt right.

“You were perfect, as always. Even now it’s as though you’ve stepped from, dare I say, one of Shelley or Stoker’s pages.”

You squeezed his hand in response, not knowing how to respond to such a compliment. But you were struck even more silent when you saw where he was leading you.

A large blanket was stretched out on the ground, perfectly placed between a group of headstones. A small gift, wrapped in black and red paper and finished with a velvet bow sat beside a hamper filled with food. More specifically, your favourite foods.

“Well, aren’t you a romantic?”

You sat down on the blanket, stretching your legs out in front of you as Aemond sat at your side. His arm instinctively wrapped around your waist. It was like you’d been beside each other for the longest time, everything felt so natural.

“A romantic? I am simply a man who wishes let you know how important you are.”

Aemond felt a need to restrain himself a little. Part of him wanted to spout all of the poetry and stories that wandered around his mind, to declare his love for you.

But he had just met you, in the literal sense. And he’d be damned if he scared you off now.

You, however, liked that about him. How open he was with how he felt. How he wasn’t afraid to give in to every emotion he felt.

“So, tell me. Don’t you know how much I enjoy your poetry?” you said it almost shyly, feeling Aemond’s arm tighten around your waist.

Aemond felt he could have melted there and then. But at the same time, the idea you enjoyed his words so much set a fire in his veins that he didn’t expect.

“Then you will very much like your gift, my darling.”

He leaned away, tugging the neatly wrapped gift towards him. Part of you felt guilty, you hadn’t bought him anything. But at the same time, you knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t mind.

His fingers brushed yours as you took the present from his grasp. As carefully as possible, you tugged at the ribbon and unwrapped it. They felt like books which didn’t surprise you at all, from Aemond. But what they truly were would surprise you.

Two beautifully bound notebooks, in black with shades of purple and red. Your breath caught in your throat as you opened the first one.

Pages upon pages of both of your favourite quotes, lines from poetry. You were already overwhelmed by the time you opened the second.

Handwritten versions of the poetry Aemond himself had sent you. The lines he had written to express his feelings towards you now preserved in his equally beautiful handwriting.

“Aemond…this is…”

You simply couldn’t find the words. So, you did the one thing you felt could express what you were feeling. You kissed him.

You almost threw yourself at him, the books discarded at the side as Aemond scrambled to catch you. Arms wrapping immediately around your waist and holding your body to his. Your legs straddled his waist, and you poured every ounce of affection and desire into your kiss.

Soon, Aemond reciprocated. Sliding a hand into your hair as his other gripped at your thigh.

He’d imagined everything about what kissing you would be like. How your lips would feel, how you would taste and how your body would feel beneath his hands.

The reality was more than he could ever imagine. And he wasn’t about to waste a single second.

Your own hands roamed over his body, gripping the soft, silk of his shirt while the other began to push the coat from his shoulders. You didn’t care that you were outside, there was no one here anyway.

All you needed was him.

Aemond shrugged his coat from his shoulders. The moment the fabric slid from his body, he moved to lay you on your back. The picnic could wait. You were the only meal he wished to devour.

Your dress bunched around your waist. Aemond slipped easily between your legs, and you could feel just how much he was enjoying the kiss. The swollen length of him pressing against you with only his jeans as a barrier.

His hips instinctively began to roll against yours, the hand on your thigh pulling your leg up to wrap around his slim waist. His lips began to trail down your neck and your head tilted back to let him continue his path.

Your breath came out in soft pants, your hand tangling into his hair as his lips settled on the exposed skin of your chest. Just as the first moan left your lips, Aemond pulled back.

His eye found yours, the blue entirely eclipsed by his pupil. Pure lust settled in his gaze.

“Shall I ravage you as I promised, my love?” Aemond leaned down, teeth nibbling at your ear lobe as he spoke.

You pushed your hips up against his in response. Words were failing you, but you could see in the look he gave you that he wanted your words.

“Please, Aemond, please…”

Your voice was embarrassingly whiny, need dripping from every syllable. And his response was immediate, latching his lips back onto your neck with a little more force this time.

“Whatever my love wishes, she will have. Your pleasure will know no bounds…”

His words were muffled as he buried his face into the swell of your chest, but what he said didn’t really matter anymore. All you both needed know was the touch of the other.

Your eyes rolled back as he continued his descent down your body. Pushing your dress higher as he reached your core. Your hand tangled tight in his hair, the pain only spurring Aemond on.

This was like a dream. The softness of your skin, the scent of your arousal as he licked a stripe over your clothed cunt. Aemond wished to commit every second to his memory.

He draped your legs over his shoulders, feeling you shift to rest on your elbows. The idea of you watching him had a heat licking up Aemond’s spine in the most delicious way.

Slim fingers tugged your underwear down your legs, a smirk thrown your way as he tucked them into his jeans.

“A souvenir?” you asked, chewing on your lip in anticipation as the cool air hit your slick folds.

Aemond didn’t answer, head dipping back down and settling between your thighs. His breath hot against your skin, sending goosebumps over the flesh of your thighs.

The moan you let out as his tongue licked over your core was almost sinful. Echoing through the empty graveyard as your head dropped back in pleasure. The sound only spurred Aemond on, now lapping at your folds as if he was a man starved.

“Delicious, so fucking delicious…” he almost growled the words into your body, sending vibrations through you that only heightened your desire for him.

His lips latched onto your pearl, suckling it between them and relishing the high-pitched keen that fell from your lips in return. He could already feel your thighs tightening around his head and Aemond was desperate to taste you on his tongue.

Your hand tightened to the point of pain in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp in a way that had him moaning into your cunt. He was rewarded with a fresh gush of slick over his tongue. Your fleshy walls pulsing around his tongue as he delved back in.

His name was like a prayer on your lips, chanting it over and over again as you felt the knot in your stomach tightening.

“Come for me, my beautiful creature…” Aemond grunted out the command as you tugged his face harder against your body, rolling your hips against his face.

Everything had sparks of pleasure biting at your body. His tongue licking at your walls, the slope of his nose rubbing against your clit in the most perfect way, his grip on your thighs almost painful.

You came with a scream of his name, a final pull on his hair earning you a hiss of pain but Aemond didn’t relent. He lapped up everything you gave him until you had to wriggle away from overstimulation.

“Fuck…” your voice was barely more than a whisper as you pulled Aemond back up your body.

Your skin was flushed, your cunt still pulsing as your high slowly left you. But Aemond’s hardened cock pressing against your damp core reminded you that he still needed to be taken care of.

And Aemond could see the look of mischief in your eyes. Your hips canting up to press your soaked core against him.

“Insatiable, hmm? Do you wish me to take you here, among the dead?”

You pressed your lips to his, sliding a hand between you to palm at the thick bulge in his jeans.

“I would let you take me anywhere; I am desperate for you…”

Your teeth tugged at his lip, his eye rolling back in his head.

“Besides, you did say you would ravage me.”

You punctuated your words with a squeeze of his cock, rubbing your palm down the length of it as he dropped his head to your neck. A few more touches had his cock twitching beneath your palm. Your fingers made quick work of his belt and zipper. Aemond came back to his senses just enough to push his jeans and underwear down just enough to free himself.

He immediately lined himself up with your entrance, slowly pushing inside. The head of his cock stretching your walls in a way that had your sighing out his name.

The day had gotten darker, but it only made the whole experience more perfect. The sun beginning to set just as Aemond began to thrust into you, the orange glow illuminating him from behind. His silver hair painted gold and his skin almost glowing.

“Yes, oh, yes…”

Your moans were the only sound Aemond ever wished to hear. His name had never sounded more beautiful that when it fell from your lips in pleasure.

His hands tangled with yours as he held them high above your head. His thrusts slow but punishing, feeling like he was filling every inch of your core.

“You are everything I need, my darling. A dream come true, a dream I never wish to wake from…”

Aemond’s words were answered with your mewls and moans, your heels in the small of his back spurring him on. His rhythm sped up in response, all but pounding into you with abandon.

You were both now solely chasing your pleasure. The only sound aside from your joined moans was the rustle of leaves and the faint cawing of birds.

Aemond’s lips locked with yours as he felt your walls clench around him. Pleasure overtook you and he drank down every one of your cries as his own release was milked from his cock with every twitch and pulse of your cunt.

His movements slowed, but he wasn’t ready to pull from your body just yet. He released your hands, resting his head against your chest. Your hands found his hair and back, calmly stroking as you both relaxed.

Neither of you knew what to say, but you both felt it. A calmness, a connection that tugged at both your hearts.

Aemond had known you were meant for him from the moment he had seen that first photo. But you, you believed it now. No one had made you feel as he did for the longest time.

It wasn’t love; it was more. Something darker, deeper.

You felt empty as Aemond pulled out of you, finding something to clean you up with. But it wasn’t before you were wrapped in his embrace again.

“I’m so happy I met you,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“Though I fear I cannot be without you now.”

Aemond pulled away, tilting your face up to his.

“Darling, you’re already in my veins.”

The kiss he pressed to your lips was filled with nothing but love and promise. Promise of a darker, deeper love that you had only ever read about.

A love you would now get to experience.

Aemond Taglist:

@legitalicat @anjelicawrites @sylasthegrim @aemondsbabe

@aemondsbabygirl @blissfulphilospher @elaratyrell @multyfangirl

@thenameswinter99 @tumblin-theworldaway @kaelatargaryen

@hoosbandewan @thought--bubble @mysticalendings

@towriteloveontheirarms @arcielee

[alexanderwales]

I saw a post deriding some techbro talking about how cool it would be to have a story where you could talk to a chatbot version of the characters within it, and like ...

Yeah, okay, the chatbots suck, the current models suck, they have too many hallucinations and a lack of attention and produce bland results and there's all the ethical stuff that I'm not even going to touch on. And if it was meant to supplement books, then the chatbot would have to know not just everything that was in the book, but everything that was implied by the book, and it would have to know it exclusively from its own perspective. And the article quoted seemed to imply that people would do this instead of reading, which ... no.

So this isn't going to work anytime soon.

But if it did work? Sign me up.

Who among us hasn't had the urge to pull a character from a book and talk to them? To hold them by the shoulders and say "please, come on, why would you do that"? To give them a hug, or a slap, or to just talk to them and figure out what makes them tick beyond what's in the book?

It's an affront to literature, and to the craftsmanship of the author, but come on, it would be so cool! And you would definitely have authors who would write a novel with this in mind, who would put in breakpoints where they suggest you play the role of a friend sitting down to chat with the character over tea.

Except that odds on it working well enough to use it like that are, barring huge problems being overcome, extremely low in the near term, not even possible with any technology I know to be on the horizon. Any techbro talking about anything like this is huffing vaporware, and trying to convince you to huff the vaporware too.

But as a concept that I acknowledge is not anywhere close to being realized at a level that I would ever actually use it, I think this is awesome.

[wriothesleybear]

Hewooo~ ✨️❤️This time i wanted to official ask you~ 🙈🤭 But first: how are you? I hope youre fine❤️✨️ Your writing of my request was just ....WOWW so so cute and warming~😘❤️Hgn....and it and the umbrella quote made me think of Rizzley finding us in Fontain, maybe in a small break of his, in rain holding an umbrella for us~✨️🤭🙈 hheheheehh~ please have a nice dayyyyyy/night/morning💕😘

Omg. First off, I am so sorry this took so long to finish! I had a first draft that I just didn't like as much so I scrapped it and started a new prompt. Second, I'm doing okay! I'm ready for spring break because I've been needing a break from work and classes. Thank you for asking🥺❤️ I'm glad you liked my writing for your request! I just liked your idea that I wanted to write for it and I always love hearing other people's thoughts on Wrio🥰 I hope this makes up for the long wait for this request! Maybe I'll redo the first draft I had for this prompt and post it separately but I'll have to see. Enjoy!~

~warnings: none, just fluff!

Let's say you're out and about shopping when suddenly it began to rain, causing you to quickly find shelter under a awning in front of a boutique. While waiting for the rain to stop so you could finally head home, you begin to sneeze and shiver due to your wet clothes that got soaked when you got caught in the unexpected rain. As you rub your arms to get some warmth, you hear someone call your name. You look up and your eyes land on Wriothesley. He's standing out in the middle of the main street, holding an umbrella to shelter himself from the rain. He walks over to you, curious as to why you're out in the cold. "What are you doing out her?"

"I was shopping and got caught in the rain. I didn't even think to bring my umbrella with me when I left my house this morning." You sneeze, still shivering from your cold, wet clothes. He noticed your appearance and how you had your arms wrapped around yourself as you shivered. He moved next to you under the awning, setting his umbrella down so he could take his coat off. He places it onto your shoulders, wrapping it around you. He rubs his hands down your arms, trying to help you warm up. You blushed, eyes wide at his unexpected actions. You've know Wriothesley for while now and you two were great friends. You knew how kind he was, but what threw you off guard was the intimate act of closeness. This was something you usually read about in the romance novels you secretly read in your free time. You couldn't help but blush at the thought of Wriothesley and you being a couple. Your head began to swarm with thoughts of 'Did he have feelings for you? No, of course he didn't. You two were only friends and he was just doing what any good friend would do.'

You were so caught up in your thoughts, you didn't notice that you've been staring at Wriothesley the whole time. His voice finally breaks you from your thoughts when he calls your name. "Hm what?"

"I said, you feeling warmer?" He chuckles "Oh! Yes I am. Thank you Wriothesley, but you should take your jacket back. You'll get sick in this rain." You began to slip his coat off , but he stops you by putting his hands on your shoulders. "I'll be fine. You need it more than me." He reasons while pulling the coat around you more. You end up accepting his kind gesture without further argument. You tug his coat closer to you, snuggling into it while smiling and blushing at his sweet gesture. "Thanks Wrio." As you thank him, you give him a soft look with that cute smile of yours that he looks so much.

He clears his throat, averting his gaze as he turns his head to hide the slight redness in his cheeks. "It's no issue. Come on. I'll walk you home." He grabs his umbrella , opening it to cover the both of you as you go out into the rain. He suddenly wraps his strong arm around you, pulling you close to him. You're surprised by his unexpected gesture which he notices by the look on your face. "The umbrella's not that big so you need to stand close to me so you don't get soaked again." You nod your head and move your body closer to his. Even though it was cold from the weather, you could feel the heat radiating off of his body. Not only that but you could also feel the hardness of his muscles through his clothes. You didn't know how much redder your cheeks could get. Wriothesley was also lost in his thoughts. He was enjoying the closeness of your body to his. Despite the reason he gave you, a part of him may have used it as an excuse to put his arm around you and hold you close.

While walking in silence, you decide to break it. "What are you doing up here Wriothesley?" It's a bit odd to see the Duke of Meropide on the surface."

"I had a meeting with Monsieur Neuvillette. Did you not like running into me up here?" He teases. "Of course not. I always enjoy seeing you. Plus if I didn't run into you, I probably would have freezed to death." You exaggerate. You both chuckle, but he can't help but notice the way his heart beats faster and the excitement that fills his body at your confession of how you enjoy seeing him. He plays along and continues his teasing. "I suppose that makes me your hero." You laugh as he smiles, enjoying the sound of your beautiful laugh. "My hero. How shall I ever repay you."

"How about having tea with me?" You two usually had tea together, but you couldn't help but feel that his offer was more than a tea date between friends. You ignore the feelings and accept his offer. "I would love to." You smile at one another. You two continue your walk to your home, sharing laughs and conversation as you near your home.

[canmom]

booksbooksbooks - "yeah ok uh. you're worthless! how about that!"

I read Tell Me I'm Worthless by Alison Rumfitt! I have previously talked about Brainwyrms on here, her second novel; this is her first, and honestly they are such similar books (thematically, structurally, stylistically - it's possible even that they are in a shared continuity) that a second comment almost feels redundant - but then it turned out I had a lot to say when I got into it. Spoilers below, though I think most of the effect of this book is how it's told rather than what happens.

(Also: the recent bookcrit posts will sometime soon be making their way to canmom.art for easier reading - I've rather dragged my feet on that but Soon(TM).)

So this is a haunted house book that's about fascism. You know it's about fascism before the book even begins, since it says as much in the content warning. More specifically it's about British fascism, personified in an evil house called Albion at the edge of Brighton that corrupts all around it, drawing people in and bringing out the fascist mindset in them.

It would be reasonable to fear this might end up as a polemic loosely packaged as a novel - even if an absolutely on-point and warranted polemic. You can absolutely see how characters fit into the 'argument': a white trans woman who has not fully escaped her racist upbringing on the one hand, her Jewish-Pakistani girlfriend* who runs into the arms of the TERF movement on the other, their blonde cis third wheel who is the first to be fully corrupted by the House. A plot hinging on conflicting accusations of rape; the house itself being established through a series of eugenicist murders. And on top of that, in between parts you get some quotes from, variously: Félix Guattari's Everybody Wants to be a Fascist, Isabel Fall's Helicopter Story, Umberto Eco's Ur-Fascism, a Stewart Lee skit, and William Blake's A Little Boy Lost (primarily for the 'Albion' pull I think).

*actually a deep closeted trans guy, wouldn't ya know it

I think it would be easy to find this directness kind of annoying, but what makes it work for me is largely its style. Rumfitt has a hell of an ability to set a mood and environment, to convey the all-too-real bitterness and pain of its characters in circumstances I recognise. It is a story more than willing to veer into delirious fever-dream streams of consciousness or to spend a few pages quoting some fetishist imageboard rant at length. But more important is the genuine and raw anger of the author that seems to run through it: when the narration slips into addressing the reader, it feels like the intensity of feeling can't be contained in fictional devices anymore. The word 'sharp' is surely a cliché, but this is the kind of book to leave you looking up and going 'phew' between chapters. It works because it is able to make you feel the bleakness that its narrative demands.

(Possibly a relevant comparison at this point would be Sálo, but something to develop another time.)

At the same time, it's a book that is so blatantly About Stuff that it's almost impossible to read it simply as a novel. It has a certain degree of mystery structure (what happened in the House? what became of Hannah? who raped who?) and escalating waves of intensity to pull you along, it's got setups and payoffs and callbacks as the ideas raised early in the story bloom again in the final blast of words, but it's not really something you can simply take as a haunted-house story. Some of the biggest horror scenes would be kind of completely ridiculous without the metaphor-drenched context.

We can describe the main beats, all the same.

the bit where I summarise the plot

Alice and Ila are two survivors of an ill-fated expedition into an abandoned house. Alice (trans girl) is haunted by something which manifests in the form of a stain on the wall, and when she covers it by a picture of a racist singer from the 80s who she once admired, his phantom (it's presumably Morrissey, but they book doesn't ever name him). she gets by through shooting sissy hypnosis videos for clients who have her say all sorts of dubious racist shit. Ila (cis) has been welcomed as a token brown woman for the TERF movement, getting interviewed on the radio and invited to conferences. Both of them remember being raped and multilated by the other during the visit to the House - more on that anon. The third member of the party, Hannah, entered with them but never left the House.

Alice's closest thing to friends are a hetero couple of hard partiers; the guy Jon is into knifeplay and it's clearly not something his partner is all on board with. She tries to hook up with a girl but the Morrissey-haunting scares her away, providing some setup for the concepts of haunting this book will use. Ila, meanwhile, is almost raped by another TERF after recounting her story at a conference; the woman in question preemptively DARVOs her on social media so she won't tell. Some other cis(?) girl who Ila had deliriously called a tranny during sex (thanks House!) seconds it. Throughout all this, Ila has been frequently messaging Alice asking to talk again.

The narrative jumps around; we gradually learn more about the circumstances of their previous trip into the House (named Albion by its first two inhabitants), and its history: built by a gay guy in a period that would get you arrested and named Albion by his 15-year-old lover, then the site of a series of eugenicist murders (with explicit allusion to Bluebeard); in modern times, the random suicides it inflicts on the people in the buildings around it, etc. It's a real bad House

So, Hannah (cis, straight) had been feeling third-wheeled by the couple Alice and Ila. We get some flashbacks as Hannah: that time Alice and Ila had sex on the beach and Hannah totally heard it all, that time Hannah hooked up with a black guy and Alice and Ila were kind of assholes to him... When they enter the house together, Hannah becomes separated and drawn to the red room at the heart of the house. When Alice and Ila enter, Hannah is fully claimed by the House and physically transformed into a human swastika, and the narrative splits in two as both Alice and Ila enact brutal rapes on each other; in one version, Alice cuts 'ARBEIT MACHT FREI' into Ila's belly, in the other, Ila cuts a symbolic vagina into Alice's scalp. The two of them leave the House with these injuries, and the narrative pointedly refuses to tell us that one is the real course of events, or that something else happened.

Ila contacts Alice and convinces her to return to the House to put an end to it. They try to have sex and they're not feeling it; then they have nasty politicised sex, which gives the book its title:

“Call me it, please,” she says. “Call you what?” “You know. You know you want to, as well.” She hesitates for a moment. But Alice is right. She does want to. “You fucking tranny,” Ila moans. “God. Fuck. Please.” The pleasure is nearly unbearable for Alice. “Do it again. Tell me what you think of me, what you really think of me. Tell me I’m nothing. Tell me I’m worthless.” “You,” Ila grabs Alice’s hair, “are a fucking worthless tranny.”

Finally the two go into the House and we enter a kind of fever dream of an alternative fascist-ruled timeline in the green and pleasant lands where Mosley plays on the radio, Alice never transitions and marries Hannah and kills herself, Ila is deported to unknown quarters, and then in a parallel vision they both embrace while respectively self-disembowelling and bleaching -

then, finally we get a version where they escape alive and burn the House, only for its curse to continue to affect the next building to be built there, which gives rise to a bomber who bombs the Pride parade where Alice and Harry (formerly Ila) are walking together. But they hold each other in the ashes. t4t end.

You get all that?

I'm leaving out various dream sequences, flashbacks, and meditations on the state of things, like the factory or the, 'shitty transvestite pigs', which could honestly be said to be more important than the narrative itself.

fascism then

So for a book that is so much about fascism, what does it actually have to say on the subject? The facet of fascism examined here is mostly of the online-radicalisation or unspoken-sentiment type, the thing you tell yourself is a joke until you stop telling yourself that. The characters are carrying intrusive patterns of thought, taking different but similar forms for each. The House, or the ideology, feeds on their interpersonal resentments and drives them towards self-destructive cruelty.

In the narration that is (at least at times) their train of thought, they ask themselves why they stay in the House, or get drawn back. The closest thing to an answer comes, in Hannah's point of view, shortly before the dual rape scene:

Alice tried to kick open the door, but it wouldn’t move, however hard she kicked. It felt like there was nothing on the other side of the door – that it wasn’t a door at all, but the border to the world, and the inside of this room was the entire world. If you were to open the door you would find… what? The world outside is dark and unknowable. In the room you are safe. You are subject to violence, abuse, mistreatment, hurt, pain, all of the above, but you are safe from what is outside the room and that is what matters, inside the room is the pain you know, outside the room is the pain you do not know, it’s not a hard choice to make in the end, to sit here ‘neath the burning sun of her body, (...)

But more than that, fascism is some kind of permanent infestation. The House itself is at once England (as the name Albion suggests) and the persistent, seemingly eternal infestation of fascist ideology, which are pretty much one and the same - a country so racist that it will vote to kill its own immune system right before a global pandemic, a country so racist that the very ground stinks, a country so racist that your seemingly left-liberal parents have a map of the British Empire hanging on their wall (excerpted from the middle of a run-on-sentence too long to reproduce here).

So Alice and Ila confront their dalliance with fascism by returning to the House, and in a sense purge themselves through this catabasis; but fascism is not destroyed when the House is ruined, or burned down, or replaced with flats, and keeps growing back to consume more lives.

Mostly the thing the book seems to have to say about fascism is it's fucking everywhere and it's terrifying, a sentiment that is hard to disagree with. But it also has a fair bit to say in depicting its dynamics in the modern world.

What of this dual rape scene then? There is a scornful paragraph at one point about how the social-justice rules of engagement totally fail, mockingly describing how you could plug the two characters into an intersectionality calculator to determine who has narrative authority here, ending with this remark:

So, there’s just two girls leaving a house and maybe you don’t have to take a side, maybe you can empathise with them both and hope they get the therapy and help they need and can learn to forgive one another. No. You can’t do that. Are you a fucking idiot? Are you that fucking stupid that you genuinely think you can do that and that something like that is possible?

At the same time as presenting this situation of absolute ambiguity, the book doesn't seem shy about acknowledging there are straight up bad actors, whether Jon or the older TERF; recurring more than once is the idea of the moves a rapist might make to silence a victim or witness. All sorts of lines: "I'm too important to the movement, think of what would happen", or blatant lies, "it's the only way [the unconscious person] can get off".

All of this, frankly, accords with my experience of the world; these are all things that happen. If it revels a little in setting up these little ironies in its account of the TERF movement (elsewhere we see Ila making up stories to post on a forum that is obviously Mumsnet), it is also painfully cognisant of the ugly dynamics of accusations. Elsewhere this very website gets a shoutout! In an Alice POV chapter:

When I was about fifteen, I used the website Tumblr. It still exists, as far as I know. It was a strange place, and it’s hard to even describe how the culture of it felt when you were part of it: at times welcoming and at times unbearably tense. It was the first time I really read about what being trans was, and it was also where I was sent endless anonymous messages telling me to kill myself. People would often accuse others of things, baselessly, and those accusations would stick to them however much they tried to shake them away. One of my Tumblr mutuals was accused of being a paedophile and a Nazi. We hadn’t really talked much at all – she’d re-blogged my selfies a few times, and I hadn’t thought much about that until people started to accuse her. I began to wonder what her intentions had been when she shared a fifteen-year-old’s selfies. She denied these accusations, of course. Anyone would. She claimed that the people accusing her of being a paedophile and a Nazi were TERFS – and the problem was that some of them were. Or had, at least, started to share TERF rhetoric onto their blogs. Which made sense… they had just been exploited by an older trans woman, and suddenly these other older women were telling them, oh, come join us. There’s a pattern to this, and we don’t have to accept it as normal. I didn’t understand it at the time, I was just angry, angry and confused, but I get it now, with Ila spooning me. I understand why she is the way she is. I hope she understands why I am like I am, too. (...dialogue about the House happens...) I stopped using Tumblr shortly after that whole affair, and after having other people creep on me too – most notably a nineteen-year-old fat rights activist who seemed obsessed with my hair. I turned to 4chan and other forums in that vein, where, even if there were Nazis and paedophiles, at least they were generally honest about being those things, even as they remained anonymous. It felt better to know that I was talking to someone who liked to masturbate over little boys than to talk to someone and find that out about them later.

I was a bit older than the fictional Alice when I arrived on here, and I've never had the sense to leave lmao, but this accords well enough with my experience - notably, I strongly recall how a certain opposed accusation of rape/abuse (with knifeplay involved!) torpedoed the simplistic 'believe accusations' worldview I had held onto up to that point. The girls involved became a cause célèbre for two rival factions in the trans scene at the time, with who you believed largely depending on who your friends were, each rallying to defend theirs and cast the others as apologists. Ironically, both those groups would later fall apart.

Whatever parallels I might draw to touchy real life history, we can certainly see here some of the devices this book likes to use: a long personal illustrative anecdote of some messy shit, seguing into a moment of narration and a remark that connects it to the present, and helps sketch its characters as the extrusion of much-larger social forces. It is not easy to adequately capture complexity without getting completely lost in mush, and I think this book manages solidly. (I am tempted to draw certain parallels to works like Psycho Nymph Exile which address similar dynamics, but that would be way more than I want to get into right now).

It is strange reading this book, in many ways. I have only been in Bright a few times, but once was indeed for a Trans Pride, and I remember sitting on the beach described in the book (I went home before anyone started fucking). I may not have shown up to some anti-TERF demo, but I know well the 'tuneless chants' that Ila derides in her early POV chapter. So many trans books are American, and here is one that is furiously British, and that certainly strikes a chord.

With everything so caught up in magic and metaphor, what can we pull out of our own immersion in this book's wash of terrible images? Simply to love each other defiantly, in the spirit of the old songs? I recall talking with @thesiltverses on how horror and dystopian fiction undermines itself by presenting a relief at the end, and I am inclined to agree. There is no relief here, no 'this is what we need to do to counter the rise of fascism'; it is a story that ends only in a tragic moment of defiance, tinged with that little cynical detail, after a fascist bombs a Pride parade:

He goes to her, on his hands and knees, rubble and blood and bodies all around them. The police, the ambulance, the news crews. They are coming. Photographers are taking pictures of them, and they will put these pictures on the front pages of newspapers, and the picture will be with them forever, they won’t ever escape it, two trans people covered in blood and embracing amidst the carnage. The photographer who gets the image wins a prize for it. They don’t know that yet. They only know this: Harry crawls towards Alice with the last of his strength, his arms outstretched and reaching. The rain will come. When it does it will be bloody. The future will be red-tinted and unknowable, but they will be together. Come to me now, mouths Alice. Hold me.

I feel like this is the tone of a lot of recent tranny-adjacent fiction: we cannot stop them coming, but we will live furiously all the same: a story about the possibility of a pocket of change, that two people so thoroughly corrupted by the House could move past it. Is that all we can hope for? If we can win more, it's probably not for a horror novel to say so.

I know I know at least one person who has known Alison Rumfitt, the UK trans scene being what it is. I'm glad her book is resonating with people, if it is only those who show up at queer bookshops (shoutout to Category Is books where I got my physical copy). We are certainly experiencing a moment for grimdark fiction, and while that suits my tastes rather more than the 'cosy', I distrust any self-congratulation about being soooo transgressive and nasty compared to those pathetic wimpy steven universe gays. This, however, is something quite different: it's nasty because it's simply extremely pointed and the subject kind of demands it.

A couple of weeks ago I was discussing with some people at the film festival about how you'd do a film adaptation of this book. Having now read it, I'm scratching my head - it seems rather unfilmable, because so much of what it's saying is caught up in internal monologues and devices of narration that would hardly translate to the screen. But hey, you know what, if someone tries, I want to see.

[jade0716]

Manon and Dorian are Mates: A Thesis

Now that we have more info on mates from CC, and with the speculation that the novel after the next acotar is a TOG one, I wanted to make a master post with all the evidence that I compiled that Manon and Dorian are mates. I even added dissenting opinions for the potential ones that could have other explanations because why not be thorough and impartial. AND I highlighted the ones in red that I felt like are absolutely evidence of mateness.

Here's hoping Sarah was dropping hints for a manorian spin off!!

TOG: 

I. Pg. 8 “On his black doublet, an emblazoned gold rendering a wyvern occupied the entirety of the chest. His red cloak fell gracefully around him and his throne”. 

the Adarlan colors being red (and gold) and the symbol being a Wyvern. This may be coincidence since in the beginning SJM was planning a Celeana/Dorian end game but I think SJM chose to make the Crochan capes red to parallel the first time we see Dorian in TOG . Manon then bonding with Abraxos who is a wyvern is the icing on the cake.).

Also keep in mind the Adarlan colors are crimson and gold. The Crochan color is red (crimsons is a shade of red) and manon is canonically known for her gold eyes. She radiates Adarlan’s colors.

Bonus: Dorian’s favorite color is white re Kaltain in TOG and she has white hair and alabaster skin. Not really mate evidence but definitely soulmate evidence.

Dissenting Opinion: The red cape was just a coincidence and red feels like the obvious color for witches given it is the color of blood. And the King of Adarlan/Erawan chose to breed wyverns because it was the symbol of house Havilliard.

QoS:

I. I know that the Valg eyes are why Manon was able to scare the Valg prince away in Dorian and pull him out of the possession. What interests me is:

Pg. 420, Roland was only able to regain control for a second after speaking to Manon before the demon took back over. I’m not going to quote this cause it’s the whole scene but go reread if you want. Dorian is able to beat the demon down and essentially say screw off while talking to Manon. Is it possible Dorian was able to regain control for a longer period of time because of a bond with Manon?

Pg. 463 “step away, get away. The demon prince inside him yanked so hard he took a step. But not away. Toward the white-haired witch”. Are we sure it’s the demon that was yanking him?? Especially since he was yanked towards her instead of away from her even though the demon wanted him away???

her name continued to ring in his head even after the demon took back over:

Pg. 469 “the words soon faded, swallowed up by screaming and blood and the demon’s cold fingers running over his mind. But those eyes lingered- and that name. Manon. Manon”

Pg. 518 “he could not remember a time when the demon had not been there inside of him. And yet- Manon.”

Is this a classic SJM easter egg similar to how we thought the bargain between Rhys and Feyre was the reason for the pull between them? Could she be trying to mislead the reader?

Dissenting Opinion: Manon's valg eyes and his want to be killed is why he remembers her name. He regained control longer because Dorian is stronger willed than Rolland.

II. Pg. 463, Dorian seeing Manon for the first time: “He’d never seen anyone so beautiful”. 

Sarah uses the “most beautiful person ever seen” repeatedly for her mated couples when they first meet. This could be writing style but it seems like a pattern in how she writes her mates meeting. I read ACOTAR and CC before TOG and when I read this line I was like yep they are mates seen this before.

Pg. 188 ACOTAR “standing before me was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen” - Feyre when seeing Rhysand for the first time 

Pg. 536 ACOMAF “you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I thought it from the first moment I saw you on Calanmai” Rhys about seeing Feyre the first time

In ACOWAR Lucien about Elain “she was the most beautiful female he had ever seen”.

Pg. 346 HOSAB “Ruhn found himself staring at the most beautiful female he’d ever seen” Ruhn seeing Lidia the first time.

Dissenting Opinion: Manon is canonically one of the most beautiful females in the world, especially because she is a witch designed to attract men.

III. pg. 492 “She stepped closer to the prince’s horse. ‘Dorian’… Sapphire eyes snapped to hers”..he remembered his name when she said it without looking into her Valg eyes. interesting.

IV. pg. 511 “Manon couldn’t tell why that thread kept yanking, why it felt so urgent, but she pushed them hard, all the way to Rifthold”. A thread is pulling her urgently towards Rifthold to save Dorian. Using the terms thread and Manon not knowing why it feels so important is so incredibly mate for shadowing.

Pg. 184 ACOTAR “go, a voice said, tugging at me. Go see.”

Pg. 412 ACOTAR “I was pulled from sleep by something tugging at my middle, a thread deep inside”. A THREAD.

Dissenting Opinion: Sarah does multiple times in TOG reference a tug pulling her main heroines to do things so this could just be the gods/fates pulling the thread.

V. pg. 640 “Dorian didn’t know what awoke him”. Some force awakens Dorian, he then goes out to his balcony and sees Manon outside.

Similar to Feyre being pulled to Rhys, Pg. 412 ACOTAR “I was pulled from sleep by something tugging at my middle, a thread deep inside"

Pg. 640 Manon says “she didn’t know why she’d bothered to go; why she’d been curious”. Manon Blackbeak, maneating witch, for no apparent reason, decides to go check up on a human man. Need I see more?

And again, her name echoes in his head (pg. 641) “through the darkness of his memories, through the pain and despair and terror he tried to forget, a name echoed in his head”. 

EOS:

I. Manon saving Dorian from the yellow legs (duh). She says her “instincts took over her” when she saw someone “taking her kill” ... then proceeds to rescue said kill. 

Pg. 44: “I have no doubt the Yellowlegs will try to claim his head. Stop any one of them who dares take it.”

Pg. 84: “And when Manon had spied that Yellowlegs sentinel perched inside the tower, readying to claim this kill for herself... a century of training and instinct had barreled into Manon. All it had taken was one swipe of Wind-Cleaver as Abraxos flew by, and Iskra's sentinel was dead.” WHAT INSTINCT? THE INSTINCT TO CLAIM YOUR KILL? Cause you actually rescued him afterwards not killed him sweetheart.

Clearly it wasn’t to claim the kill for herself. So what was it? Instinct? Helping the witches? She didn’t know of Dorian’s magic at this time, so how would saving Dorian help the witches? Seems like the instinct was from something else.

Pg. 85: “Some ancient, predatory part of her awoke at the half smile. It sat up, cocking its ears toward him”. Ancient and predatory? Mates.

II. The one million times Dorian protects her even though she starts off on Erawan’s side and he has no reason to be so protective:

Pg. 87: “Manon crashed to her knees. The king was instantly at her side, studying her for a heartbeat before he roared down the stairs, “NO!”” 

Pg. 369: ““No.” The word ripped from Dorian’s lips before he could think. But then it came out, over and over, as the wyvern and rider sailed closer to the ship. The witch was unconscious, her body leaning to the side because she was not awake, because that was blue blood all over her. Don’t shoot; don’t shoot— Dorian was roaring the order as he hurtled for where Fenrys had drawn his longbow, a black-tipped arrow aimed at the witch’s exposed neck. His words were swallowed by the shouting of the sailors and their captain. Dorian’s magic swelled as he unsheathed Damaris— “. This lowkey makes me chuckle like what is he gonna do with Damaris against a bunch of fae warriors lol.

Pg. 395: “Dorian didn’t feel like mentioning that he’d been the one who’d jumped into the water. He’d just … acted, as Manon had acted when she’d saved him in his tower. He owed her nothing less”.

Pg. 438: “Ice danced at Dorian’s fingertips as he slid beside Manon, still chained by the bed” when the bloodhound shows up on the ship.

Pg. 574: "That hunger shifted into something icy and vicious: 'You once asked me where I stand on the line between killing to protect and killing for pleasure'. His fingers grazed the seam of the scar across her abdomen. 'I'll stand on the other side of the line when I find your grandmother". Earlier in EOS Manon asks him why he didn’t make the bloodhound suffer, that there is a line even when it comes to their enemies. Apparently not when someone harms Manon.

III. Dorian’s magic reacting every time she is in danger or threatened:

Pg. 369: “His magic felt it before he did. A sense of awareness, of warning and awakening” when she comes in injured on Abraxos.

Pg. 369: “His words were swallowed by the shouting of the sailors and their captain. Dorian’s magic swelled as he unsheathed Damaris—“

Pg. 396: “Manon’s voice was flat and cold as death. “Tell Aelin Galathynius not to bother using me for negotiations. The Blackbeak Matron will not acknowledge me, either as heir or witch, and all you will get out of it is revealing your precise location.” His magic flickered. “What happened after Rifthold?”

Pg. 438: “Ice danced at Dorian’s fingertips as he slid beside Manon, still chained by the bed” when the bloodhound shows up on the ship.

Pg. 441: “Manon froze entirely. And didn’t particularly care as the Bloodhound lunged for her throat, teeth bared. It was not flame or wind that snapped the Bloodhound’s neck. But invisible hands. The crunch echoed through the room, and Manon whirled on Dorian Havilliard. His sapphire eyes were utterly merciless.”.

Pg. 457 ““If you were me,” Aelin murmured in a tone that had Dorian’s magic rising, ice cooling his fingertips. Aedion’s hand slid to his sword. “If you were me.” His magic flickering when Aelin RAISES HER VOICE at Manon (like come on this is mates shit).

Pg. 498-499: “ "As far as I recall,” Dorian went on with a sly grin, “you two—” The attack happened so fast that Aelin didn’t sense or see it until it was over. One moment, Manon was seated at the edge of the fire, the marshes a dark sprawl behind her. The next, scales and flashing white teeth were snapping for her, erupting from the brush on the bank. And then—stillness and silence as the enormous marsh beast froze in place. Halted by invisible hands—strong ones.” The fact that Dorian was mid sentence, not paying attention, and doesn’t even move a finger to protect her.

Even Aelin comments on it, Pg. 499: “But Dorian’s magic held the beast still, frozen with no ice to be seen. The same power as the one he’d wielded against the Bloodhound. Aelin surveyed him for any tether, any gleaming thread of power, and found none. He hadn’t even lifted a hand to direct it. Interesting.” IT IS INTERESTING AELIN. I also find it interesting that Aelin says the same power he wielded against the bloodhound, which was also to protect Manon. Granted I know Aelin is observing him bc his raw magic is so different from other forms of magic, but I still think it’s interesting that Sarah had Aelin comment on how he didn’t even react or move and his magic protected her.

Dorian about his magic sensing Rowan and Aelin’s bond, pg. 131, “His magic had felt the bond between Aelin and Rowan—the bond that went deeper than blood, than their magic, and he’d assumed it was just that they were mates, and hadn’t announced it to anyone.” Obviously later we find out it was because Aelin and Rowan were mates. So his magic canonically can sense a mating bond.

Also Rowan on Pg. 357 “I wanted to chuck you off a cliff, yet I bit you before I knew what I was doing. I think my body knew, my magic knew." His magic knew when he tasted her they were mates. Similar to how Dorian's magic has been acting? Like it knows something he doesn't?

VI. Pg. 575 “Manon thought the king tasted like the sea, like a winter morning, something so foreign and yet familiar it at last dragged that moan from deep in her.” The so foreign yet so familiar is so mate coded. Especially bc...

in HOF the Wastes are described as having winter mountains and near the western sea

Pg. 71: “To take our host to reclaim the Wastes from the mortal pigs who now dwell there." A fierce, wild thrill pierced Manon's chest, sharp as a knife. Following the Matron's gaze, Manon looked to the horizon, where the mountains were still blanketed with winter.”

Pg. 68: “Manon herself had never set foot in the former Witch Kingdom, had never seen the ruins or the flat, green expanse that stretched to the western sea.”

So it makes sense that the Wastes would smell of winter morning and the sea. They also call the wastes the “Frozen Wastes”, further implying a wintery sent.

VII. Pg. 577 “ Wondered what he’d say if she told him she’d wanted to sink her teeth into his neck and find out what he tasted like”.

Rowan on Pg. 357 “I wanted to chuck you off a cliff, yet I bit you before I knew what I was doing. I think my body knew, my magic knew. And you tasted …” Rowan loosed a jagged breath. “So good…” 

Manon in HOF Pg. 33: “The common, watery taste of the man, laced with violence and fear, coated her tongue, and she spat onto the wooden floorboards.”

Manon in QoS Pg. 463 “I’ve been with plenty of men. You’re all the same. Taste the same”. 

Manon has not shown to be particularly interested or intrigued by the blood of men aside from just to hunt and feed until Dorian. We also have Rowan describing how good Aelin tasted when he bit her and how he thinks "his magic knew". Is her attraction to Dorian’s blood because of this similar mating bond logic?

Dissenting Opinion: She just wants to taste Dorian's blood because she's attracted to him and so his blood is more enticing to her. She does say that the blood of the men at the Ferrian Gap distracts her in HOF, so obviously she sometimes does crave man blood.

KOA:

I. Again, we see Dorian’s magic reacting to her in a way instinctually

Cyrene attacks, pg. 78 “As Manon whirled, Dorian’s magic surged, already lashing at the unforeseen foe”

Pg. 130: “Despite who walked ahead of them, behind them, Manon smiled slightly. He surprised her further by saying,"I've been tunneling into my power since they appeared. One wrong move from them, and I'll blast them into nothing." This is so touch her and you die vibes I love it. This isn’t his magic acting instinctively I just wanted to include as another instance of him being protective of her using his magic.

Pg. 227: “ “I care.” His temper rose to meet hers. And he decided to hell with it—decided to let go of that leash he’d put on himself. Let go of that restraint. “I care about more than I should. I even care about you.” 

Same scene: Pg. 228: “Dorian smiled slightly, and fell asleep once more, letting his magic warm them both. When they awoke, something sharp in his chest had dulled—just a fraction…Where that edge had dulled in his chest, his magic now flowed freer. As if it, too, had been freed from those inner restraints he’d loosened slightly last night. What he’d opened up, revealed to her. A sort of freedom, that letting go."

This is right after he says he’s been trying with Vesta for days to get his eyes to change color and it hasn’t worked but one time with Manon and she warms his heart enough to let his magic go free.

Pg. 143, Dorian goes to Cyrene to learn how she shifts…

“Is that what you do to summon the change: first think of what you want to become?” “With limits. I need a clear image within my mind, or else it will not work at all.”

Followed by Pg. 286 when Dorian is trying to shift… “Who do you wish to be? “Someone worthy of my friends,” he said into the quiet night. “A king worthy of his kingdom.” For a heartbeat, snow-white hair and golden eyes flashed into his mind. “Happy,” he whispered, and wrapped a hand around Damaris’s hilt. Let go of that lingering scrap of terror. The ancient sword warmed in his hand, a friendly and swift heat. It flowed up through his fingers, his wrist. To that place within him where all those truths had dwelled, where it became warmth edged with sharpest pain. And then the world grew… He made to touch his face, but found he had no hands. Only soot-black wings. Only an ebony beak that allowed no words past it. A raven.” In this scene Dorian thinks of Manon, which makes him think of happiness and very similar to the scene where she made his magic flow before, his magic begins to flow through him and he shifts, for the second time due to Manon warming his heart, into not just a bird, but a black beaked bird. I repeat, BLACKBEAK bird. It’s safe to assume this is because he pictured Manon, and as the spider said you have to have the picture in your head when you will the shift for it to happen. The image he had in his mind was Manon. This one I honestly think is crazy and such strong evidence of mateism , especially bc it happened TWICE in this book.

Manon fighting the Matrons, pg. 474 “Dorian’s magic writhed, seeking a way out, to stop this.”

When Maeve glamours as Manon to seduce Erawan, Pg. 639: “icy rage, pure and undiluted tore through Dorian as Manon stood before the Valg king.. Dorian focused upon his breathing, on the stones beneath him, anything to keep his magic from erupting at the desire on Erawan’s face” (also important bc when she glamoured as Aelin his magic didn’t do this!!!)

II. Pg. 225 ““Which do you like the best?”… “I like the ice best,” Dorian admitted at last, realizing he’d let the silence drip on. “It was the first element that came out of me—I don’t know why.” I know why!!

HOF pg. 230 “If Manon was ice and Asterin was fire, then Sorrel was rock.”

QOS pg. 68 “Asterin had always been that way—and that wildness was exactly why Manon had chosen her as her Second a century ago. The flame to Sorrel’s stone … and to Manon’s ice.”

III. Dorian refers to Manon as his equal, pg. 536 “she would be his wife, his queen. She was already his equal, his match, his mirror in so many ways”.

SJM is very consistent about mates being equals and being mirrors of each.

Quote from Tampon in ACOTAR: “High Fae mostly marry,' he said, his golden skin flushing a bit. 'But if they’re blessed, they’ll find their mate—their equal, their match in every way.” This is almost verbatim what Dorian said about Manon. Also want to note that ACOTAR (2015) ,where the idea that mates are equals really starting being engrained in the reader, came out 3 years prior to KOA (2018). Sarah was writing the ACOTAR trilogy concurrent with the later half of TOG. So for her to have Dorian use those words to describe Manon, she had to have known what she was doing. When KOA was released there were already three acotar books out that beat this idea into our head so i can’t believe this is a coincidence. I think Sarah would notice how that phrasing sounds exactly like how she describes mates considering how important the bond is in her books.

Feyre to the Suriel: “How can I possibly be his mate?' Mates were equals- matched, at least in some ways. '

Rowan about discovering Aelin is his mate pg. 678 EOS "His equal. His friend. His lover. His Wife. His mate."

Dissenting Opinion: This is just SJM's writing style, and I’ve also noticed SJM reusing some phrases for her couples across the series *ehem* nessian and sartaq/nesryn “I wish we had time”

IV. Also in this scene Dorian talks about wanting to “claim her” as his wife/queen... Pg. 538 “the temptation that his every instinct roared to claim. Not the body, but what she had offered…” This could just be SJM writing style (fair argument), but nevertheless "his every instinct to claim" is VERY matey especially with the instinct part and because "the claiming" is a thing. Some examples:

HOF Pg. 158: “the bite so strong and claiming that she was too stunned to move”

EOS Pg. 352: “You are mine,” Rowan breathed, and she felt the claiming in her bones, her soul.

EOS Pg. 422: “A claiming, mighty and true, that she understood he so desperately needed.”

Dissenting Opinion: This is just SJM's writing style. Just because the word claim is used doesn't mean they are mates.

V. Manon screaming his name when he almost dies pg. 133 "Manon bellowed his name, and Crochan arrows fired... Manon screamed his name again, but he couldn't move... Then there were iron-tipped hands gripping his shoulders, and gold eyes glaring into his own".

This reminds me of in HOF when Manon shoots Rowan with an arrow and Aelin screams his name

Pg. 477 QoS... "Aelin's scream echoed down the Ravine" when Rowan is shot.

Pg. 655 EOS Aelin admits to Maeve she knew Rowan was her mate, "The moment the arrow when through his shoulder. Months ago"

This is also parallelled by Dorian screaming for Manon when she is in danger in EOS:

Pg. 87: “Manon crashed to her knees. The king was instantly at her side, studying her for a heartbeat before he roared down the stairs, “NO!”” 

Pg. 369: ““No.” The word ripped from Dorian’s lips before he could think. But then it came out, over and over, as the wyvern and rider sailed closer to the ship. The witch was unconscious, her body leaning to the side because she was not awake, because that was blue blood all over her. Don’t shoot; don’t shoot— Dorian was roaring the order as he hurtled for where Fenrys had drawn his longbow, a black-tipped arrow aimed at the witch’s exposed neck."

Dissenting Opinion: Aelin tells Rowan she saved Manon because Asterin screamed her name the same way she screamed Rowan. So technically by this logic Asterin and Manon could be platonic mates. And maybe Manon just screams Dorian's name because she cares about him not anything to do with being mates. (Counter Argument- but then why did Dorian scream her name in EOS so aggressively when he didn’t even know her then??)

Edit:

Also want to comment on Manon being the scariest individual in the world, and yet repeatedly both Dorian and Manon comment about how he is not afraid of her. Across the SJM universes this is seen as a huge mating bond sign (“Aelin terrifies everyone, but not him [rowan]” ; Feyre not being afraid of Rhys).

ALSO want to mention that Manon had “never allowed another male atop her” during sex before Dorian. To me this is incredibly telling bc it indicates that Manon sees Dorian as an equal by allowing him to dominate her. Yes, Manon is attracted to his domineering manor, but you’re telling me never in 116 years she’s done anything but ridden a male, and Dorian walks in and she’s like yea tie me up and get on top of me… I mean I would to but you see my point. Additionally, them being incredibly attracted to each other could be a mate indicator as mates are obviously aggressively attracted to each other bc of the “animalisticness” of the mating bond.

Lastly, you’ll see above that there are lots of times where their “instincts” cause them to act or are pushing at them to act in relation to each other. Instinct is mate coded af, especially when they’ve had that instinct since they first met. It wasn’t something that grew over time they always had it.

Debunking arguments against them being mates:

I. Mates are only fae.

Manon is part fae, so she could have a mate.

E.g. Bryce is half fae half human also and mated with Hunt (who confirmed in HOFAS is the product of two angels and not fae); Lorcan is a demi fae and can have a mate (believed to be Elide who is human but unconfirmed); Aelin is demi fae prior to forging the lock and is mated with Rowan.

I also cannot find anywhere there is a rule that you must have XYZ amount of fae blood to have a fae-like mate, just have to have some fae blood. But we don't really know what percentage of Manon is fae vs Valg. Given she is half Ironteeth and half Crochan, she likely falls around that 50% fae line which is just as much fae blood as Lorcan, Bryce, Aelin, etc.

II. The Crochans believe in Mates

It’s not confirmed whether the Crochans do or don't have the traditional fae mating bonds, however we learned in CC2 it was proved that you can have a “true” mating bond as long as one person has fae blood, E.g. Bryce (half fae/human) and Hunt (Angel).

pg. 139 EOS the Crochans "... had adopted the Fae habit of selecting mates- if not a true mating bond, then in spirit".

pg. 139, EOS Manon's grandmother says about her father "But he did not love her- not with your mother as his true mate, the song of his soul". This sounds to me like her parents were believed to be a true fae mating bond not just "in spirit".

Pg. 316 HOSAB "Angels have mates. Not as.. soul-magicky as Fae, but we call life partners mates in lieu of husbands or wives". Sounds like the Angels have a mating bond "in spirit" similar to the Crochans. Except that Hunt then truly "fae mated" Bryce, and he doesn't have any fae blood.

When then find out Hunt and Bryce are "true mates"; Pg.492 HOSAB "It means that he's going ballistic in the way that only mates can when the other is threatened. It's what happened then and happened now. You're true mates- the way Fae are mates, in your bodies and souls".

III. Fae can have non fae mates.

We see Bryce/Hunt in CC that are different species and have a traditional fae mating bond.

Rhys/Feyre and Nesta/Cassian feel a pull to each other when Feyre and Nesta are human, which then clicks into place as a true mating bond.

There is also Elide/Lorcan and Gavin/Elena in TOG that are “mates” (unconfirmed since the humans never became fae). Fae queens Mab and Mora also give up immortality for their human "mates".

So it is canon that you can have inter species mates or human mates, it just may never "click" into place if they are human.

via Hunt and Bryce, we do know the bond can completely click (souls and scents merging, etc.) between "magical" species once it is accepted, but we do not have this evidence with fae and human bonds.

I also don’t believe Dorian is entirely human. But that is completely my speculation

Pg. 933 KOA " 'I am human.' It warmed in his hand... 'I am human," he repeated, to the stars now visible above the city. The sword didn't answer again. As if it knew he no longer needed it." Yes he is human but he can be other things too. Similar to Aelin's quote about being a human in a fae body below. They identify and choose their human moral side, but that does not mean there are parts of them that are not human.

Aelin KOA Pg. 723: "I am human, deep down, Faerie Queen nonsense aside. I had human parents, and their parents were human, mostly, and even with Mab's line running true... I'm a human who can turn into Fae. A human who wears a Fae body".

On par with the theme of "Be grateful for your human heart" (Rhys, ACOTAR)

Also curious as to whether he does or does not have valg blood from his father. Because he could also have fae blood (distantly) from Elena/Brannon/Mala (Valg + Fae= Witch?)

IV. The mating bond would have clicked when they fucked… I think we all know this ain’t true anymore (cough cough Nesta and Cassian). You can have sex but if you do not accept the bond it will not click.

Rowan also says on pg 396 HOF "Sometimes, mates can be together intimately before the actual bond snaps into place"

V. Wyrd/Urd/the Mother/Fate (aka Sarah) gets to decide whose mates and who isn't

The only thing Sarah has been clear about is that she can basically make anyone mates that she wants as long as one person has fae blood. And even then, there is very much a "fate like force" aka Wyrd/Urd/The Mother that is working to pull the strings of fate and make people mates.

Hellas speaks to Lorcan and Hellas's consort, the goddess Annieth, speaks to Elide. Lorcan and Elide are never confirmed mates as Elide remains human and yet there are still signs she is his mate even as a human.

Rhys's mind has able to find Feyre's when she was still human years before they met. Yes he has demati abilities but finding Feyre's mind is because they were fated to be mates.

Adias says about Hunt and Bryce mating bond HOFAS, Pg. 551 "I think that was left to higher powers. Whatever they might be".

There is no special "biological formula" proven necessary for a mating bond. To the best of our knowledge so far, the only thing we can be sure of is it happens when fate demands (and when one person has at least some fae blood). Therefore it logically makes sense why the Mother/Wyrd/Urd would manipulate fate to ensure that Dorian and Manon were mates because they needed Manon to get into the witch mirror and raise the witch forces. They needed Manon to unite with Brannon's heir to defeat Erawan and destroy the keys, whether that be Aelin or Dorian. A mating bond would ensure that.

Also Wyrd/Urd means fate/personal destiny in nors mythology —> https://www.mimisbrunnr.info/ksd-web-of-wyrd and https://norse-mythology.org/concepts/destiny-wyrd-urd/ (read these if you want to theorize about acotar)

In conclusion, I think they could be mates but it won't fully snap into place (they won't fully merge souls, scents, etc.) unless Dorian is somehow Made. The only evidence of interspecies true confirmed fae mating bonds is Bryce and Hunt, and while they were able to fully "click" without Hunt being fae, it is very unclear why this is other than "high powers". We do know though that human Elide was very likely Lorcan's true mate, but we were never told of any clicking between them on that fae physiological level. So it is safe to assume that for a mating bond between a human and fae it will not "click" into place unless that human is turned fae.

HOWEVER, I do think it is possible because of Dorian's raw magic, he could be a rare exception to this rule similar to Hunt. So maybe it just has not clicked because Manon and Dorian have not accepted it. Which would also make sense given the nature of their relationship through most of the series, them denying their feelings to each due to their emotional unavailability.

Dissenting Opinion: But we also don't know how the angels were created by the Asteri, so maybe Hunt is "made" and not actually an exception.

Anyway, there's my evidence. There was some more evidence that I had and then removed because even though I think it is proof of a deeper connection I didn't think it was mate related (e.g. Abraxos taking Manon to Dorian when she says take me somewhere safe, I came to the conclusion that that showed Abraxos's awareness in protecting Manon).

Here are the links to some other tumblr posts on them being mates. I did look at these when putting this together so full credit to those individuals :)

[utilitycaster]

@rowzeoli replied to your post “Do you think part of the D20 journalistic bias...”:

I rarely go on tumblr so sorry if you see me spamming your posts tonight, but I really enjoy your perspective and thoughts! I think I'm the journalist you're referencing in regards to the Fantasy High Junior Year article and unfortunately 1) journalists only get access to interview subjects at very specific junctions (usually press day before the series goes out or halfway through) 2) most publications are honestly Going Through It and cutting freelance rates and just not paying to cover AP

​So I'll be totally honest - I post on Tumblr because I assume it is far more unlikely to be seen and so I can vent freely (hence the fairly harsh tone of the criticism in the original post), but I guess this is a chance to clarify. I don't expect anything to change, nor do I expect you to respond; indeed, I wouldn't blame you if you block me after this. But if readership is down (and who knows? maybe it's not and I'm the outlier), this may be illuminating.

The issue with your specific article - which I brought up relatively tangential to the larger point of "at this point I think Polygon's AP/TTRPG coverage is a waste of time to read" isn't really that it's only an early look at the series; and because Fantasy High Junior Year is at this time ongoing, it's honestly entirely valid that there hasn't been a follow-up. It's, well, the "surface-level and factually wrong" issue.

Dimension 20 was by no means the pioneer of remote recording as you claim in your article; that had long been the default of smaller recorded AP shows well before pandemic lockdown for the simple reason that if you're not a media company the overhead is very low - no need to have a dedicated space or even cameras beyond decent laptops. Burrow's End's puppetry? Critical Role's Call of Cthulhu: Shadow of the Crystal Palace did shadow puppets in 2019. They had diagetic audio on the main campaign as early as 2016. I don't even like Kollok, but that's had complex set design since 2019. Meanwhile premise of the article is yet another rehash of Polygon's "Dimension 20 is CHANGING THE GAME" constant drumbeat, while your actual pull quotes from Brennan Lee Mulligan are him musing that this is simply an entry in an ancient tradition of storytelling and isn't, in fact, terribly novel. The interview fails utterly to back up your point and indeed contradicts it; I get that the timeline was probably tight but this is outright incorrect in multiple places and your argument isn't just unsupported; it's outright dismissed by the very person you claim is proving it. If the premise came before the interview, it needed to be reworked afterwards, and if it came after the interview…I'm not sure what to say, really.

This isn't your article, and I'm putting it here to illustrate that this has been a pattern for Polygon's AP coverage specifically. This article about Worlds Beyond Number is perhaps my favorite example of "this is not serious journalism:" Rusty Quill Gaming, The Adventure Zone, Friends at the Table, and NADDPod are all theater of the mind long-running podcasts (RQG's campaign lasted a whopping 7 years of real time) and that's just off the top of my head; the idea of a long-running edited audio podcast being novel is laughable. RQG and TAZ both started at level 1; I'm not personally familiar with Friends at the Table. I don't actually think starting at level 1 vs. 2 is terribly important in storytelling in the first place other than that a few D&D classes pick their subclass at L2 and that choice can be narratively relevant, which it was in TAZ; however, some classes pick a subclass at L3 so you can still achieve this with a level 2 start (as Critical Role's second campaign does). Both Emily Axford of NADDPod and Griffin McElroy of TAZ have long been composing their own music and RQG is heavily sound designed. These are not obscure pulls, either; these are some of the more well-known names in the space.

At this point, Polygon AP/TTRPG articles - by multiple different writers - simply feel like madlibs: "(actual play show) is groundbreaking in its (thing that other shows have been doing for 5+ years); I especially liked (visual effect) and (incorrect understanding of TTRPG mechanics)."

The people I allude to in the post you responded to as having egregiously uncharitable and sanctimonious takes on Daggerheart (within, again, hours of its publication) are a frequent Polygon contributor and a Rascal editor and they further my mistrust of those publications: There is this constant insistence that everything they like be "groundbreaking" and "innovating" and they will claim this even when it's demonstrably not the case, as the above examples note. As Mulligan says in your article "it’s important to keep new artists with new experiences and backgrounds flowing in," and yet by focusing intensely on high production values (difficult for smaller indie upstarts to have) and by incorrectly claiming that a well-established media company within the space like D20 invented a number of things it flat out did not, this journalism is actively, if unintentionally, working against that goal. As I put it elsewhere, Polygon's bizarre pedestaling of Dimension 20 and simultaneous putdowns of Critical Role (which turn into wild contortions when D20 mainstays like Mulligan or Aabria Iyengar collaborate with CR; for that matter others besides me have observed that Polygon acts like Spenser Starke is two different people, the genius who created Alice is Missing and the knuckle-dragging moron who put out Candela Obscura and Daggerheart) coupled with the obsession with production values over story has the whiff of claiming they're the champion of the little guy for sticking it to the 700 lb gorilla in the space and then focusing on 500 lb gorillas while making it impossible for smaller monkeys to compete because most brand new shows without the name recognition of someone like Mulligan involved can't exactly hire Rick Perry to do their models or Taylor Moore to do sound design.

I suppose a good way to put this, since I've run into this in many spaces, not just AP/TTRPG or even journalism, is that bias on its own in a subjective medium isn't inherently bad; but if something is so nakedly biased against something I love, I will, naturally, turn to it with a far more critical eye, and if its arguments are not ironclad I'm going to start noticing every structural issue in every argument and every tiny mistake. Sure, as a fan of Critical Role, and as someone who feels that Kollok was nigh-unwatchable and that Burrow's End was promising in parts but deeply flawed, I disagreed with Polygon's nonstop mud-slinging towards the former and glowing, verging on fawning reviews of the latter two. But that's not entirely damning on its own; I do get that not everyone will like Critical Role and that some people will love Kollok or Burrow's End for valid reasons. What's damning is the journalism itself is riddled with factual errors and the analysis is so weak that to call the arguments a flimsy house of cards would be generous. The opposite is also true; if Polygon's lead editor were out here repeatedly misspelling the name of one of the main characters in Worlds Beyond Number (note: this has since been corrected) but the articles had compelling arguments, even ones I disagreed with, I'd be far more forgiving, but as is? It's offering me absolutely nothing: it's poorly researched, it's poorly structured, it's poorly written, it's poorly copy-edited, and it shits on things I like seemingly just for clicks. I'm done giving clicks.

I am deeply sympathetic to the pressures facing digital journalism and media and the arts in general; as someone who is fortunate enough not to personally face those pressures and has the income to be a patron, I would love to help in my small way (and I do, at least, financially support a number of the AP shows I love). But the quality of some of this journalism is truly so bad that I can't bring myself to support the institutions putting it out; it's "dead dove do not eat" until such time as someone whose analysis and opinions I do trust cites them (or, perhaps, until there is a sea change of lead editorship). I know that this won't help the crunch, and may make it worse, but I just can't because the quality is so poor. I don't have a good solution to how to write about something that takes a lot of time to watch and process and about which the articles pay very little in return, but the current strategy of bouncing between uninformed provocateur and utter sycophant depending on the show and creators; of drooling over such surface features as shiny production and falsely claiming everything is "groundbreaking" while getting the most basic facts wrong has driven me away.

[weaselandfriends]

hey i liked cockatiel x chameleon to an extent. i did want to ask about the george floyd section since it was probably the most effective part in the story for me (i’m black i shouldnt have to say dis) but what was it’s thematic purpose in the story beyond pulling you away from the languid hellscape of suffering people into the real world? i get that gramme was in the protests/riots and went secluded.. but i feel like there was more in that moment.

Thanks for the question. I already talked a bit about George Floyd's inclusion in CxC in this post, and the thematic idea of the "End of History." I recommend reading that post and seeing if that answers your question, but in case it doesn't, I'll approach the question from a different angle than I did there.

In 2013, I wrote an unpublished, pre-Bavitz novel called This Really Happened. It was, at its onset, a surreal murder mystery plot in which a wealthy young corporate heir was framed for a murder of an executive in order for the true culprit to seize control of the company. The heir, a ridiculous weeb named Luxembourg, is harassed by an unstoppable, Terminator-like black detective named Denning. Luxembourg panics, takes his secretary Rachel hostage using a katana, and flees into the Los Angeles streets. (Rachel is, at Luxembourg's behest, dressed in cosplay of the character Rydia from Final Fantasy 4.)

20,000 words into the novel, these three larger-than-life personalities run smack into the 1992 Rodney King Riots, which have just started while all this murder mystery bullshit was going on. The rest of the novel is a beleaguered chase through an anarchic Los Angeles, Denning unable to receive backup, Luxembourg trying to reach his father's mansion on the northern fringe of the city. The murder mystery elements strip away until there doesn't seem to be anything propelling this chase besides momentum, while the story is intercut with transcripts from real interviews taken during the riots and other depictions of things that, as the title claims, Really Happened. The second-to-last chapter of the story is just a transcript of the Murphy Brown speech then-vice president Danforth Quayle gave regarding the riots (a quote from this speech would later wind up as a Chicago chapter title).

To prepare for the work, I researched the riots assiduously. I watched hours upon hours upon hours of on-the-ground footage, I watched documentaries about the causes of the riot, the reactions to the riot, all from different perspectives and angles, I read books on the subject, ethnographic research of the LAPD, pretty much a full-scale immersion into the subject.

Since then, the subject of police brutality has always been one of particular importance to me.

In some ways, Cockatiel x Chameleon is the evolution of the ideas I had with This Really Happened. The collision between fiction and reality, "fake" problems versus real problems, personal desolation and communal. (A minor character from This Really Happened has a small, unnamed cameo as a reporter Gramme encounters at the protest. Gramme also briefly wields a katana.)

The thing that always strikes me about the George Floyd video is how the police officers don't seem like real humans. Not simply in the heinous murder they're committing, but in how they talk and act. The bystanders shout, scream, sputter, fumble their words constantly. Floyd begs for mercy. But Officer Thao talks like an MCU character, like he's always trying to drop a funny quip. "Don't do drugs kids." Chauvin just looks around with one eyebrow raised like he's pulling a sitcom reaction face. At one point, Thao aggressively pushes a bystander, then says "Don't touch me again," despite him being the one doing the touching. It's absurd. I think if the video was fictional, if it happened in a movie, I would roll my eyes and say, nobody is that one-dimensionally evil! But it did happen. It's impossible to deny, and that causes the absurd to turn to disgust, to anger and sadness. I cannot watch that video without being sharply emotionally affected.

One of the books I read for This Really Happened is called Policing Space, by Steve Herbert. It's a work of ethnographic research on the LAPD after the Rodney King riots, meaning the author rode along with LAPD officers and studied them in their typical environment. Herbert concluded that there are a series of ideologies that influence police behavior, and that among the obvious ones like law, safety, courage, and morality, there's one called adventure. Police see themselves as action heroes, like from a movie, and that can color their entire mindset, including their perception of law, morality, etc. They're the hero and their enemies are, well, enemies. They're roleplaying.

If I were a smarter person, I would've thought to make a connection between the outrageous fictionality of the officers' dialogue and the fictionality of the roleplaying the other characters perform throughout CxC. That if "roleplaying" is the only way for Harper, Gramme, Sister, and so on to construct meaning or identities for themselves, then that is also the only way these police can construct meaning for themselves as well, to disgusting results. (The officers in the Floyd video aren't even doing their job. The bystanders are pleading for the cops to arrest Floyd, which they refuse to do.) The culmination of this idea is the LARPing vigilantes with the Punisher logo on their truck that roll up to the protest and abduct Fletch. "Hostile neutralized," they say, completely clownish fake dialogue. Fletch responds by shouting, "You can't arrest me, you aren't cops, you're fake, you're playing pretend!"

I hope either this answer or the other one is satisfactory answer to your question.

[whiskeyapologist]

was looking through my camera roll & realized i never posted about this?? but i did a check please theme in my bullet journal back in april & i am still beyond obsessed with how it turned out!

task list & cover page

april was all about finishing my fucking thesis (i earned my mfa in stage automation in may) & i used the task list to break down each section of my thesis & make it less intimidating. i still pulled a bitty & had to marathon write most of my thesis within a like 36 hour period. i slept so good once that draft was finished!

when i started planning this theme, i flipped through the comic & decided pretty quickly i wanted the cover to be this view of faber from 4.25 "faber". i filled the outside with some of my favorite details from throughout the comic, including (clockwise from top left) the "text from chowder: i'm shouting!" from 4.2 "nonstop celly", jack's "oh" moment from 2.17 "graduation", the jack lego (?) figure from 3.1 "wag", dex & nursey's background roach & house bubbles & (i think it's) ransom's "et tu lardo?" bubble from 2.12 "post i: roadie", one of my fave senor bun appearances that didn't make it into a weekly from 1.16 "linemates", & bitty's phone (i don't think there's a specific appearance of bitty's phone that looks like this, at least not that i'm finding in the flip-throughs i've done to write this post. i think i did a lil freehand moment with it, but if anyone happens to find it in the comic, let me know!), as well as my usual little calendar & monthly focuses section

monthly calendar & habit tracker

the monthly calendar & playlist is inspired by the smh team roster hanging on the bulletin board in the haus at the beginning of year 2

the habit tracker features a few other details from 2.1 “moved in”, namely the “haus sweet haus” rug & the sock pinned to the bulletin board. the shopping list bubble is a callback to the “jizz!” speech bubble also pinned to the bulletin board next to the sock

meal & time trackers

the breakfast, lunch, & dinner headers are a callback to the hockey puck taped to the bulletin board

not much to add here, but it’s a great time to mention the “it’s tough but you’re tougher” speech bubble from 4.20 “spotlight on eric bittle” which was the quote i used to decorate my grad cap ❤️

weekly #1 is modeled after y1 & features my favorite y1 senor bun appearance (1.18 “playoffs - i”) & line (1.8 “checking clinic”)

weekly #2 is modeled after y2 & features my favorite y2 senor bun (2.10 "shinny") & line (2.4 "hazeapalooza")

weekly #3 is modeled after y3 & features my favorite y3 senor bun (3.3 "meet the falconers") & line (3.26 "cup v - post")

weekly #4 is modeled after y4 (the layout of the top panel specifically is modeled after the first panel of 4.16 "christmas in madison - iii" which shows a bunch of the christmas pics/posts from the rest of smh & tater) & features my favorite y4 senor bun (4.17 "senior thesis") & line (also 4.17 "senior thesis"). i has some extra space, so i included some excerpts from bitty's y4 tweets

camp nanowrimo tracker, before the pen. the left is just a table for tracking time spent on & words written for my thesis & the novel i've been working on forever. my camp nanowrimo goal was to write 1 hour every weekend day & 2 hours every week day, for a grand total of 50 hours, which i am proud to say i achieved! the right is a visual tracker, where each pie was equal to an hour of writing. i included 50 pies for my 50 hour goal. the bubble near the top is from 1.4 "the haus" with 2 footnotes i added; one on "kitchens" that says "word docs", & one on "pies" that says "words". clearly i think i'm very clever lol

visual tracker, filled in. i surpassed my 50 hour goal with about a week left in the month, & i wanted to include that additional progress on my tracker. once the month was done & i knew how much i needed to add, i made a tip-in (although this might just be a fold-out lol) to tape in. on one side, i included the dialogue bubbles from a panel of 3.19 "keagster"

on the other side of the tip-in/flip-out, i included jam jars for the additional 10.25 hours of writing i did, plus "it's gonna be two trips" also from 3.19 "keagster"

& that's all the spreads! spreads were done in an archer & olive b5 notebook. supplies include: mildliners in the colors vermillion, dark blue, beige, & gray; a black papermate flair, a white gellyroll pen in size 08, and stabilo pens in gray and brown. oh, & a piece of masking tape, bc i couldn't find any clear tape lol

[lumienyx]

happy to surrender

Pairing: Astarion/m!Tav | Rating: T | Words: 1,208 | Tags: Established Relationship, Romance, Banter, Fluff, Humor, sorcery as a replacement for the tadpole mindlink, no beta we die like Dribbles

Summary: A snowflake lands on Tav’s lips, and Astarion melts it with a kiss.  “My love.” Astarion’s gaze is so tender, his voice so fragile Tav fears that it may break. “These last six months of happy memories are a counterweight to two hundred years of misery.”

A/N: inspired by a bunch of things: Astarion's epilogue confession ofc, @snowyarts' post contrasting it with his earlier much more grim dialogue, and when I finally started on the New Beginnings prompt for the BG3 Winter Holiday Challenge, I ended up with this🥺 Hope you enjoy💙

Read on AO3 or continue under the cut ↓

The canvas of the night stretches wide above them. Astarion watches it, entranced, ever in awe of each new starscape of Faerûn they uncover during their travels. 

Tav is mesmerized in turn by the subtle play of moonlight on Astarion’s skin, in his eyes. The light snowfall grazes his hair, the flakes lingering just a bit longer than usual before melting away. Tav leans closer into the one-armed embrace, pressing his lips against Astarion's neck.

“Any new constellations you can show me?” Tav follows his lover’s gaze to a messy cluster of stars.

Astarion chuckles. “Of course, my sweet. If you remember all the ones from before.”

“All of them?” Tav frowns, doubtful. “You have a lot of faith in my memory.”

“If you can quote that bawdy poor excuse of a romance novel we stole from Gale, then surely—”

“Anyway.” Tav ignores Astarion’s smirk, pointing to where he spots a familiar, blade-like pattern, tracing it with his finger. “That one. Jassa’s Dagger?”

“Wrong.”

“Oh, well, the Sword and the Dagg—”

Astarion cuts him off with an exasperated kiss, reaching out to run his hand through Tav's hair, a pleasant shiver tingling in its wake. “Try again. No daggers there, I’m afraid.”

“Ah.” Tav skips through a couple more guesses. “Well… Esetar?”

“That isn’t even visible right now, darling.” Astarion caresses his cheek then, gentle and almost placating. “Not that I don’t find this positively adorable, but do you even listen when I tell you about them?”

“I remember most of our stargazing lessons ending in me seeing stars for a very different reason.”

Astarion groans. “And I remember how I’ve told you repeatedly that your questionable attempts at wordplay leave much to be desired.”

“This one was good,” Tav insists, “one might even say stellar—”

“Stop—”

Astarion struggles out of the embrace only half-heartedly, and Tav doesn’t catch any trace of tension on his face, so he doesn’t break the hold. “Made you smile,” he says, with no small measure of satisfaction.

“I am not,” Astarion says, “smiling,” he tries and fails to suppress it.

“But there it is.” 

Tav presses his lips to Astarion’s, feeling the grin widen. He relishes the soft, languid movement of his lover’s lips as they fall deeper into a kiss that warms Tav even more than the sphere of heat he’s keeping up around them. There’s only a hair’s breadth between them as they pull away, and Tav finds himself lost in Astarion’s eyes all over again.

“There.” Tav points to another patch in the sky, not even looking. “Mystra’s Circle.”

“Why,” Astarion gasps in mock surprise, “truly a remarkable catch! The only circular constellation out there—how did you guess?”

Tav weaves a few spheres from the heaps of snow behind Astarion, all ready to strike. They all miss, of course; Astarion leaps out of his arms to dodge them just in time, and Tav barely manages to halt the spell before the projectiles end up hitting him instead.

“Ugh.” Tav lets the spell dissipate ina burst of snowflakes. Gone is his only chance to catch Astarion off guard. “I’ll get you one of these days.”

“Darling,” Astarion laughs, “do I have to remind you of the score of our snowball fights?” He rushes back into the radius of the heating spell and into Tav's begrudging embrace, though Tav probably doesn’t look as annoyed as he’s pretending to be.

“You may win the battles,” Tav grumbles, “but you won't win the war.”

“If you ask me really nicely, I doubt I would have any choice but to concede defeat.”

“Ha! Since when are you happy to surrender?”

“I am happy with you always,” Astarion says.

And it’s those simple words that give Tav pause. 

There is no hint of jest or deceit in Astarion’s eyes. Only warmth and tenderness that Tav is still getting used to seeing there, in place of the once constant fear and pain. The bright specks of light reflected in them form constellations of their own against the ruby red. So beautiful, impossible to look away from, even as Tav feels heat rushing to his cheeks and his heart rattling his chest at an alarming rate. A reaction he hasn’t quite grown out of, even after all these months by Astarion’s side.

“I—well.” Tav blinks. A nervous chuckle follows a bashful smile. “Really?”

A snowflake lands on Tav’s lips, and Astarion steals it with a kiss before it melts. 

“My love.” Astarion’s gaze is so tender, his voice so fragile Tav fears that it may break. “These last six months of happy memories are a counterweight to two hundred years of misery.”

Tav’s heart skips a beat, perhaps a couple. He doesn’t know what to answer, doesn’t know how. He can’t quite believe it, still. The pain yet rings sharp from the words Astarion had said a longer while back—that not even Cazador’s death would make up for the all-consuming darkness, that never-ending pain.

But Astarion slides into his mind now, magic weaving itself in the familiar spell Tav spent months developing so they could both have this—mind-to-mind emotions and wordless connection—once their tadpoles were gone. Astarion’s feelings are clear as day there, somewhere in the in-between of Tav’s own tangled thoughts and emotions—

—it's as if there's a bright, simmering hearth in his chest, and it feels like home, you are home—

—Tav’s own face obscures his vision, one memory that mirrors thousands more like it, and when he sees that face smile, he feels—Astarion feels like it lights up everything around him, bringing to life something deep inside him that he thought long forgotten, and he feels his lips follow suit to mirror mine—

—touch is less like small bursts of electricity, like it used to be when they barely knew each other but knew enough to want one another and every touch sparked desire—

—now, the touch of my hand is grounding, your embrace feels like a warding spell, a Sanctuary that keeps at bay whatever danger and harm the world yet harbors, kissing you completes me like two split pieces of a whole finally joining—

There’s waves upon waves of joy radiating from Astarion’s thoughts, there's the shadow of his embrace that Tav can feel even as he’s lost in the connection—and all of a sudden, it’s too much to bear being parted, and so he closes the distance between them. They kiss deeply, softly, it’s all kinds of perfection Tav doesn’t ever want to let go. 

Tav is quite happy to surrender to Astarion, too.

Astarion’s lips are cool and yet the kiss spreads warmth all over Tav’s body. Like the familiar surge of sorcery running through his veins, only better, because Astarion’s touch is more magical than any spell Tav could ever hope to invoke. It’s all the elation of a life bound closely to his, of their life began anew. A life they get to live, against all odds, together. Their minds are still entwined, and Astarion’s coalesces into the single thought,

I love you.

And the emotion of it is strong enough, overwhelming enough to make Tav weak in the knees with how good it makes him feel, how completely it overtakes him. And Tav—

~~~

thank you for the read! I’d appreciate any comments and feedback💙

Tag list (lmk if you'd like to be added):

@spacebarbarianweird @satanicspinosaurus @tallymonster @tragedybunny @ellekhen

[habbohoteldotdk]

When I was still deeply addicted to the Internet to the point I'd cycle through weird extremist sites that called for the death of people who look like me, news websites, and regular social media all at the same time, spending upwards of 12 hours a day on them (to the point the sensation of holding my phone in my hand still felt tangible even when I wasn't using it), I knew it wasn't "right" and that one day I'd figure out how to stop. I postponed that decision to the distant future. I hyped myself up by reading posts on r/nosurf made by people who succesfully stopped using the Internet in a problematic way (and by problematic use, I mean intending to check a website for only 10 minutes and realizing that two hours have passed and you've since forgotten what you were initially looking for), I read books that aimed to help the reader defeat their addiction, I read quotes, I watched videos, I was looking for anything outside of myself that would somehow magically pull me out of my addiction. I assumed it was like a switch that could be turned on and off.

It took years for me to gradually reduce my usage. I realized the change happened mostly because my feelings around the Internet changed. When I was a kid, it was a place to play games and have fun (I would cycle through YouTube, Minecraft forums, browser games) and even when I had my first phone (at 12) I'd never bring it with me to school.

That belief I had about the Internet remained with me as I aged but my world expanded. Internet meant having social media. Internet meant reading the news. Internet meant talking to extremists online. Internet meant watching gore videos. Internet meant knowing a school shooting just happened on the other side of the planet... but it was simultaneously still a place 'to play games and have fun', but that function lessened to make room for all the things I enumerated earlier. So... the Internet back then was still as addictive as it is today, but the introduction of these novel things into my Internet experience turned it into an even bigger time sink.

Going back to the point I was making, my screen time reduced because while I was hyping myself up throughout those years, telling myself "this is definitely the year where I'll stop scrollllllllingggg", making up these elaborate logical reasons as to why I should quit browsing X or Y website, my emotions/feelings about the online world subconsciously followed suit, because change mostly comes from emotion. Even if it may not seem like much, all those days added up (some of these days where I've wasted my entire evening scrolling past stuff I cannot remember anymore, others where I didn't go past the 3 hour mark according to my phone's screen time monitor) and there's absolutely no desire for me to waste hours on some random sites anymore. Changing is akin to turning a cube into a sphere with fine grit sandpaper, every day you work towards it, and only in time you will see the change.

But when I first started trying to get a bit more control over my addiction I thought life operated like a cartoon where I strike a chisel against marble once and it collapses into a perfect Adonis. I spent all day looking for the right spot to strike to perfectly and effortlessly change instead of actually making changes (as explained above, in my case I was compiling resources like this one [video], this one [video] and this one [long-form article], re-reading them over and over again as if they'd instantly rewire my brain and bring about new changes in my life).

[lovesick-girly]

the devil all the time book review

author: donald ray pollock

genre: southern gothic, crime, thriller

published: 12th july 2011

stars: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️.5

synopsis: a young man devoted to protecting his loved ones must face off against corruption and sinister characters in a postwar backwoods town.

themes: good vs. evil, religion and hypocrisy, violence and death, trauma and psychological damage, corruption and moral decay, fate and desperation, poverty and despair, family and protection

fav quotes:

“Some people were born just so they could be buried.”

“It's hard to live a good life...It seems like the Devil don't ever let up.”

“They's a lot of no-good sonofabitches out there."

“Sometimes it seemed as if she spent half of her life crying.”

“He wondered if he would ever feel clean again.”

“Let me pray first," he sobbed. He started to put his hands together. "I already did it for you," Arvin said. "Put in one of them special requests you fuckers are always talking about, asked Him to send you straight to hell.”

my thoughts/review:

i love this book so much that i couldn’t put it down. donald ray pollock's the devil all the time is a harrowing southern gothic-like novel that borders on straight-up horror, taking the cake for disturbing and depraved. set in the post-world war ii backwoods of ohio and west virginia, it paints a bleak, grotesque picture of humanity, filled with violence, madness, and desperation (my kinda book hehe).

my favourite character is arvin, a deeply morally grey individual whose struggle to navigate a violent world while holding onto a sense of justice kept me hooked. his internal conflict and actions are unsettling yet sympathetic. another favourite perspective of mine was lenora, whose innocence and tragic vulnerability added a heartbreaking depth to the novel. sandy's perspective was equally fascinating—her entanglement with her husband in their twisted, murderous routine gave the story a layer of depravity that was chilling.

the story takes readers through the eyes of some truly gnarly and grotesque individuals, from a husband-and-wife serial killer duo to a predatory preacher and travelling freak show. the imagery is immersive and grotesque.

pollock’s prose is both beautiful and disgustingly twisted. he uses rich descriptions to create scenes that make you squirm but also pull you deeper into the narrative. if you loved the movie or like weird books i can't recommend enough.

[hurricane-eva]

Biblical References in Lord Peter Wimsey Novels: Have His Carcase

I would like to eventually have a post like this for each book, but since this is the one I most recently finished, we're starting with this one instead of at the beginning.

If I've missed any, do tell, because I would love a Complete and Accurate List. I don't think there are any major spoilers here, but just in case, I'll put 'em under a cut!

Chapter 4:

"Who told you about the body?"

"I nosed it from afar. Where the carcase is, there shall be eagles gathered together. May I join you over the bacon and eggs?"

Chapter 8:

He had covenanted with himself to interview Colonel Belfridge at eleven o'clock.

This one is more Biblical language than an actual quote, but I'm counting it because according to my rules it fits.

Chapter 9:

"...Alexis wasn't the sort to take a long country walk for the intoxicating pleasure of sitting on a rock.

"True, O Queen. Live for ever. ..."

Chapter 10:

"Wilvercombe is the more probable direction of the two, because anybody coming from Lesston Hoe would have seen her and put his crime off to a more convenient season, as Shakespeare says."

This one cracks me up because Inspector Umpelty has, earlier in the chapter, attributed a quote to the Bible which is not one.

Chapter 12:

But now, with the hope that they might be found to have entertained an angel of darkness unawares, they foresaw all manner of publicity.

Chapter 16a:

"Two boats stationed off the Grinders."

"Fishermen?"

"Fishers of men, I fancy," replied Wimsey, grimly.

Chapter 16b:

Harriet: Oh, death! where is thy sting?

Chapter 16c:

Harriet (reading): 'Last of all the woman died also' — probably from backache.

Chapter 16d:

Harriet: What is that in your hand?

Peter: A dead starfish.

This one, I admit, some might argue about, but it is EXACTLY the kind of thing I would do, pull some obscure quote and have a character use it, so I'm giving DLS this one.

Chapter 21:

"A contempt for money, Inspector, is the root—or at any rate, the very definite sign—of all evil."

An adaptation rather than a quote, but a very strong one.

Chapter 23:

Presently the inner door opened again and the young lady emerged, clothed and apparently very much in her right mind, for she smiled round...

Chapter 25:

"Which brings us to the point that either Weldon's party wrote the letter or the foreign party did the murder."

"True, O king."

Chapter 31:

"I said the Wilvercombe alibi would stand, and it has broken in pieces like a potter's vessel."

[raayllum]

Do you have any favourite underrated Rayllum moments (either in the show or in the novels, graphic novels etc) ??

Oh so many!! I was a S1 shipper as well so I've always had the goggles on, which will undoubtedly influence this list (we're talking the littlest of the little moments) - novel quotes are in quotations

Callum glancing back to look at her in 1x03 when she stays behind to battle the smoke wolves

His happy little face when she's 'faced her fears' in 1x05 after they go down the waterfall

Literally every scene between them in 1x06 (which along with 1x05 and 1x04 are the Foundational Rayllum Eps, to me) + bonus shout out to Rayla winking at him twice while she's stretching

Callum admitting to her face that he was so distracted by her / thinking about her that he forgot the food they needed to live

Rayla teasing him in 1x07 just as an excuse to get all up in his space (like seriously, she's not nearly as touchy-feely with Ezran by any means)

"Everyone else started up the mountain, but Callum lingered. 'Are you okay?'"

"And for some reason, she found she wanted to share what she'd seen with Callum, even if she didn't tell anyone else."

"Rayla was now one of the best friends Callum had ever had."

The way Callum trails off for a split second with "She's more like a..." in 2x02 cause he isn't sure what to say / is considering it for probably the first time

Rayla not only admitting that she's scared of hurting him (at all) but that she's scared of hurting him to another Moonshadow elf, even though Moonshadow elves aren't supposed to show fear, ever

Callum being like "yeah we'll walk around an Entire Sea for you" and not caring at all about how long it'd take, only for 5 minutes later when they're going with the boat plan to be like "getting somewhere faster matters!!" like you love Rayla so much it makes you look stupid

Rayla taking his bag from him in 2x04

Rayla briefly cradling the back of his head as she lays him down in 2x08

How Callum stares at her and just her as she leads him into the canyon in 2x09, only looking around at their surroundings instead of at her when she indicates for him too

Callum forgetting that Sol Regem, the giant dragon actively trying to kill them, is even there because he's so focused on trying to get to Rayla after she's caught in the rockslide in 3x01

The teasing/admiring looks they exchange over the whole fart flower thing. They're best friends <33

The little smile she gives him in 3x05 after she's helped pull him up the ambler

The tiny smile they hold and exchange in 3x07 after their mock flirting as they continue walking up the Storm Spire

Eating from the same plate and wearing matching jammies / sharing room(s) in Through the Moon

That one panel where they're walking to see Allen and Callum's eyes are closed while he happily talks about something and Rayla's smiling and listening? Lives rent fucking free in my head. Encapsulates everything I imagine for post-war/everything Rayllum. 10/10, one of the panels of All Time, to me

Callum touching his arm once she lets go during their reunion in 4x03, boy was down bad immediately

Callum leaning over in between shots (in the background) like his life fucking depends on it to see if Rayla is going to come along on their trip with Ezran or not in early 4x04

Callum's face falling in 4x05 when they're talking on the Pinnacle only when Rayla says "Last time I was here, I leapt to my certain death"

All their little glances (particularly in 4x05 and 4x06) in S4 - mad or talking or not, they're still each other's person and slip right back into their old routines

Rayla looking to him silently for reassurance in 4x06 and the way Callum nods and gives it to her automatically. It's so sweet <33

How much Rayla plays with her hair around him in 4x07 like girl please

How consistently smiley Callum is in 5x01 despite the fact nothing's really gone right for them because Rayla is back and he's fully letting himself be happy about it for the first time, it's such day-and-night to how he is in S4

Callum having drawn Stella in his sketchbook at some point before 5x02 is so cute to me

The way Callum watches her hands and gestures in 5x04 so attentively when she's starting to open up

Rayla holding and handing his staff and bag to him as they're leaving the Bookery in 5x04

All of Rayla tending to him and helping him in 5x07, her hand braced along his back and/or on his shoulder

Him being a massive fucking loser and stumbling over in 5x09 so unsteadily bc he just Has to hold her hand like sir. s i r

[twilightarc-gm]

Guidao in MDZS, Quotes

🖤 Okay so you know the discourse is hopping, now I wanted to slide in with the full excerpt from the official EN novels of MDZS. Alot has been said about the cultural nuance with how certain Xianxia cultivators treat the dead.

But I specifically wanted to address how guidao isn't about "peacefully" anything.

🖤 Here is the passage that was cited by another Commenter With Opinions. Some of the fluff pulled out (noted with [...]) and most relevant passages in bold for consideration: vol 1 chap 4

[...] There is an executioner who executed hundreds while alive. His parents and wife are alive and well. He was murdered in town, his corpse lying in open air for seven days, brewing resentment. He now haunts and perpetrates violence. What is to be done?” 

[...]  Murdered in town, a corpse in the open air for seven days—it was the very definition of a major malicious ghost, a great fierce corpse, super difficult to handle. 

[...]  “First, deliverance; second, suppression; third, obliteration.  “Confer with his family and endeavor to learn how to fulfill his dying wish; one must absolve him of his obsession in order to ensure he is released. If the attempt proves futile, then one must suppress him with decision and with force. If his crimes are excessively heinous and his resentment still does not disperse, his existence cannot be tolerated; in this case he must be eradicated. In discharging duty, cultivators must heed this ordering without error.”  [...]  Wei Wuxian said, “Although ‘deliverance’ is the first step, deliverance is often impossible. ‘Fulfill his wish, absolve his attachment’ is easier said than done. If his wish is for a new set of clothes, then sure. But if it’s to kill an entire family for revenge, then what is to be done?”  Lan Wangji repeated, “Deliverance is supplemented by suppression as required. Obliterate when necessary.”  Wei Wuxian smiled at the response. “What a waste of resources.” After a pause, he continued, “It wasn’t that I didn’t know the answer, I was just thinking of a fourth option.”  “I have never heard of any fourth option,” Lan Qiren said.  “This executioner died a horrible death, so him transforming into a fierce corpse is inevitable,” Wei Wuxian said. “Since he executed hundreds whilst alive, why not dig up the graves of those hundreds? Awaken their resentment, fuse their skulls, and have them fight the fierce corpse…��  Lan Wangji finally turned his head to look at him. His expression remained impassive, yet his brows were slightly knit. Lan Qiren was shaking so hard even his goatee was trembling.  He shouted, “Such ignorance!”  Everyone within the Orchid Room was stunned, and Lan Qiren shot to his feet.  “The purpose of exorcism is deliverance! Not only do you pay no thought to the deliverance methods, you want to awaken resentful energy? You are reversing the proper order of things, disregarding ethics!”  Wei Wuxian argued, “Some creatures are impossible to deliver anyway, so why not make use of them? When Yu the Great was taming the waters, he already knew blockage was an unwise plan and that redirection was the way. Suppression is a form of blockage, so isn’t that an unwise method?”  Lan Qiren hurled a book at him and he ducked, continuing his nonsense without batting an eye.  “Spiritual qi is energy. Resentment is also energy. Spiritual qi is stored within the dantian and can be used for great feats, so why can’t resentful qi be used the same way?”  Lan Qiren hurled another book his way and exclaimed sharply, “Then let me ask you! How will you guarantee all this resentful qi will remain under your control and not harm others?!”  Wei Wuxian ducked as he answered, “Haven’t thought that far yet!”  Lan Qiren was outraged. “If you had, then the cultivation world would have no place for you. Get out!” 

🖤 So here I think we should pay attention to how Wei Wuxian wants to "awaken" resentment, not just use what's already there.

Further as we saw with the cultural nuance posts, he wants to fuse skulls together, which... hmm not great.

Then, we see him say that such creatures are impossible to deliver anyway, why not make use of them? But the scenario Lan Qiren gave is to get rid of one (1) ferocious corpse and instead we see Wei Wuxian considering making more of them. And further, he's not really making use of the creatures that already exist, see? Otherwise he wouldn't need to awaken anything.

As we see post-rez, he comments that the eviler the better so as the Yiling Laozu he figured out how to control ferocious corpses like the executioner in this scenario.

But also there is no assumption that this is helping anyone but Wei Wuxian. "So why not make use of them?"

And I think specifically when Lan Qiren is calling out the disregard for ethics, this is mostly about the digging up properly buried corpses and awakening them. Like... as all the cultural nuance posts are trying to say, Wei Wuxian proposes and does the opposite of helping corpses/ghosts move on.

🖤And I think the most ringing argument you can really make about whether Wei Wuxian's guidao has any righteousness at all is when Jiang Yanli speaks up for him. vol 3 chap 15

[...] A-Xian used a different method from the rest of you, but it’s still a skill he cultivated on his own. You can’t write it off as ‘demonic’ just because he claimed a third of the prey that others were never going to capture to begin with.”

🖤 Which we see at Baifeng Shan he's using his ways to help Yunmeng Jiang secure prey. He played his flute and took a nap, while the corpses all ended up at Yunmeng Jiang's camp where they all use a more traditional way of dealing with corpses, i.e. obliteration. He doesn't even go to supervise.

🖤 Wei Wuxian has good in him, but I think it's better to actually look at his good deeds, no matter how selfish they are, than try to attribute inherent goodness to a path notably flaunts ethics and norms to incite yin qi (e.g. yuan qi, resentment) which is harmful to the living and resting dead. Wei Wuxian's character is a subverted villain trope, but what makes him the villain trope is the use of evil ways, i.e. the use of yin qi to seek power to use for one's own ends.

Feel free to reblog with his actual good deeds and intentions 😚