#i'm NOT EDITING AND REREADING

[pasiphile]

Ficlet prompt! The Locked Tomb. Gideon gets away and joins the Cohort. But it's not exactly all she'd hoped it would be. She doesn't actually miss the taunts of the Reverend Daughter, does she? Gross.

The food’s good.

The food’s good, and having non-geriatric company makes for a nice change, and Gideon’s fucking ace at sword practice and she gets high-fives after training and people laugh at her puns and she’s pretty sure that cute Fourth-house blonde is gonna ask her out on a date any time soon and it’s great, it’s everything she’d hoped for and more, and –

And every day she feels deeply, staggeringly lonely.

Space blinks back at her, forlornly, her own face – oddly bare without the paint, even though she hated it, even though she avoided wearing it every opportunity she got – staring back at her.

There was a bit at the end of every fantasy, where she got mentioned in dispatches, or got some kind of medal, and Her Royal Boniness would be there and grudgingly nod, or shake her hand, or even – in Gideon’s wildest and yuckiest dreams – smile with some sort proprietary pride.

But Gideon’s been in the Cohort for two months and it’s clear now that’s never gonna happen. As soon as basic training’s done they’re gonna send her to one of the colonies, and she’ll be literal light years removed from the Ninth. Even if, somehow, she’d perform some glorious feat that set her apart from the thousands of other soldiers, she’d never get close to orbit again.

And fuck knows Harrow would never leave her precious planet alone unattended.

And that should be a good thing, fucking hell, why is she moping about this? The Reverend Daughter hates her guts. Being away from her should feel like a release.

But it’s a familiar hate. A hate she grew up with.

“Hey Nav, coming? We’ve got a beer pong competition to win.”

“Yeah, sure. In a minute.”

There’s a rumour going around, of all the House Scions and their Cavs being called to some special meeting thing, and wouldn’t that be a rub. On the one hand she was loyal to the bone – hah – to their Kindly Prince, but on the other hand, to leave her House alone…

And it would be with Ortus at her side. Yuck.

Gideon closed her eyes, rubbed her face, for a moment let her thoughts wander. Imagined what it would be like to go in at Harrow’s side instead of Ortus, be her cavalier, challenge people to duels in name of the Ninth. Maybe then the Reverend Daughter would begrudgingly show her something more than outright contempt. Gideon would absolutely trash some jumped-up little Fifth House pampered Cav and Harrow would look on from the shadows, ominious in her ceremonial robes, the tiniest smile pulling at that thin line of a mouth –

Yeah, as if.

“Nav!”

“Yeah, I’m there.”

Gideon threw one more look at the porthole and space outside, full of promises and adventures that had lost their allure, black as the Reverend Daugher’s eyes…

Yeah, no, this was good. This had been the normal, healthy choice. Fuck Harrow and fuck the Ninth, she had an ensign to flirt with and beer pong to win. Besides…

Only a madman would have believed Harrow to ever regard her with anything but hate.

She pushed off and strode down the hallway, her boots clanging on the metal floor that seemed almost obscenely shiny compared to the Ninth rusty squalor, leaving behind dreams of black eyes and bone-ringed hands and gritting her teeth against the sharp pang of loss.

[ivysangel]

Thinking about the nastiest, filthiest, most depraved sex with Jason. Visually, it's kind of violent, but really, it's not; you just need each other very carnally. There's no salvaging the clothes you were wearing, and the ones you wear over the next few days will have to cover you up enough so you don't get mistaken for the victim of a mauling. It didn't matter, though, didn't matter if you looked like you'd been hit by a truck or were brought to the brink of death and revived because nothing mattered when he was balls deep in your soaking cunt. 

Every single time Jason hit that sweet spot deep in you, you felt like you were on the verge of dying and ascending to the great beyond. The edges of your vision go dark as you leave deep bloody scratches anywhere you can reach, refusing to be the only one who looked like the victim of a violent crime when it was over. Your legs shake uncontrollably as he draws another earth-shattering orgasm out of you, making you slip further and further into the light. 

You always come back to him, though, the out-of-body experience ending when he bends you into a new position, whispering in your ear how good you are for him. It would happen again, and again, and again until you were sure you were gonna die on him or something, sure that every stroke of his cock was gonna be the one to take you out. Death's cold, clammy hands never touched you though, just Jason's warm ones wiping drool from your mouth, and lightly tapping your cheek. "You still with me?"

[sysig]

Two skeletons in a trench lab coat (Patreon)

Bonus:

He’s very careful! Everything was fine before you interrupted!

[coquelicoq]

what i like especially about the pronouns in the goblin emperor is that this language doesn't just have the T-V distinction (aka informal vs. formal second-person pronouns, in this case 'thou' vs. 'you'), it also has informal and formal first-person pronouns. having BOTH of these distinctions in the same language lets you fine-tune your tone by mixing and matching. with only one axis of formality, when you use informal pronouns, are you being familiar in an intimate way, or in an insolent or dismissive way? when you use formal pronouns, are you being polite or standoffish? you can't tell just from the pronouns; there's ambiguity. but a language where you can use a formal first-person pronoun in the same sentence as an informal second-person pronoun allows you to distance yourself (via the formal first) while also being familiar (via the informal second), thereby achieving the conversational tenor known to linguists as Fuck Thee Specifically.

[ruegarding]

we do not have five entire books full of percy's philosophical thoughts for rick to pull this shit. if annabeth was in character, she would be looking at this architecture and consider what she'd do different (and since she's redesigning olympus, she'd maybe also consider if she'd use any designs there). her fatal flaw is hubris and it should be a staple characteristic of hers.

[benevolenterrancy]

Swords pining for each other's cultivator is my new favorite type of pining. Love your NieYao content! <3

I don't suppose we could get Baxia or Hensheng throwing a tantrum while Jin Guangyao / Nie Mingjue are away, leaving their owners to deal with the embarrassing aftermath?

Also, do you have any recs you'd recommend with these two?

this is the exact moment Nie Huaisang realised he was going to have to start meddling in his big brother's love life (con't: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

Hensheng, on the other hand, doesn't throw tantrums but WILL sulk...

[almond-gallery]

happy valentine's w yhk <3

[motherraid]

I can’t find any rules so if your uncomfortable plz feel free to ignore this but I recently found out that when a afab person sits on someone else lap, they can feel the *throb™*

So I’m currently thinking what would Sebek do if during the Masquerade s/o fem!reader ended up sitting on his lap and he felt the throb. What would he do? Would he get hard or would he wonder what it is?

Can I be ✨🎀 anon plz? If you do those kinds of anon thingies lol

Omg of course???!?!?! It's been so long since I've taken an ask from a named anon what you're so nice 😭😭😭

AND YOU HAD TO PULL A SCENARIO FROM MY FAVORITE EVENT TOO ILY

((Grinding, manipulation/gaslighting(??), boners (lol), slight exhibitionism(?? If you squint i think) more big boy words and can't really think or anything else as a description, IM SORRYYY I NEED CHARACTER EXAGGERATION IT'S AN ADDICTION))

Well, well. Back to lap sitting. It seems you all have a certain taste.

Boring answer is he feels it, gets embarrassed, and asks you to get up before he even begins to feel anything. He'd probably offer you his seat and walk off to find another seat he can sit down in. He's red faced, but that's it.

Fun answer?

I believe that Sebek WILL know where it's coming from. I'm sure he has some knowledge in sex ed or smth and if he doesn't, he's still very smart. He can make the connection and what was causing it easily. And when he looks up at you in concealed confusion, he can tell by your nonchalant expression that you aren't doing it on purpose. He assumes it's a natural thing that you shouldn't be ashamed of. So, by that logic, if you feel something hardening under your ass, surely you can understand that it's just natural, right? It's nothing to freak out over, I mean, who wouldn't get hard when there's such a darling sitting in his lap?

And who could possibly have known that something as simple as a pulse could be so alluring?

I mean, if we're talking sweet ol classic Sebek, he'd probably be aaaaabsolutely mortified. His immediate reaction would be to politely tap you on the shoulder and ask you (in the quietest voice he's ever had in his life) to stand so he can use the restroom. He won't even make it to full erection by the time he's flown from the room lol. And as soon as he makes it into semi-privacy, you won't see him for a good while. Well, at least until he can either will his erection to die or pathetically rub one out in a restroom stall like a loser (lmao). Most likely the former. His pride wouldn't allow him to do something so humiliating. If someone heard or caught him whimpering while he spazzes with his dick in his hand mid orgasm he'd truly never show his face in public again.

If you two are in a relationship then maybe he won't be so quick to run away and pitifully consider jacking off to the feeling of you throbbing in his lap- wishing he could feel your throbbing while deliciously stretched around his dick and welcoming every inch deeper into your warm cunt until either he runs out of inches or you run out of space.

No, no. He may just steadily place both hands on each of your thighs and bury his face into the back of your shoulder. Or the crook of your neck depending on how tall you are.

("Please... Just stay here for a moment. I swear that I'll let you up soon.. But for now I need you to stay put... and try not to move too much." )

And uhm.. Mk so you know it's not a Duke post without some sort or freak in there, and I just can not write something without going feral about it and the only way I can go feral about it is if I exaggerate his character so PERVY SEBEK

So if you somehow had managed to sit down in his lap and he feels his zipper area becoming a bit uncomfortable, you'd better have a strong will. The absolute degrading filth this boy will spew into your ears will either have you grinding into his crotch and begging him for more or trying to muffle your hurt/confused sobs. Best believe he ain't going nowhere, and neither are you for your little stunt. Sure, you may not have been intentionally trying to arouse him, but you are the one who insisted on using him as a seat when there are plenty of places to rest. That must have been what you wanted, huh? To see him all red faced and bothered? You probably like seeing him breaking a sweat, lip between his teeth and digging his digits into the underside of the seat. You must loove making him horny. It's like you get a kick out of it. Is it funny for you? To see him in agony?

Well, two can play at that game. Don't even bother acting surprised when he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you tight to his chest. He might wait for a person or two to pass out of view before his tongue sneaks a quick swipe against your earlobe. His breath is heavy on your neck while he nuzzles his face into your hair. Thank the Seven for the loud(ish) music echoing off the walls, or else anyone a good few feet from you would be able to hear him groaning in your ear. All while one of his hands slowly slides towards the inside of your thigh and gives it a good squeeze.

And don't even think about saying anything. It's all your fault, you know. You just casually decide to sit in a guys lap and act surprised when he gets hard? Just like your enticing second heartbeat, an erection is something that can not be helped sometimes. They can happen anywhere, and every guy can agree to that. So what will it look like when you purposefully sit in his lap, throbbing against his thigh with your ass sat firmly against his crotch? Did you forget you're in a school of boys? They'd understand him in a heartbeat. Some may even say you did it on purpose. You'll only embarrass yourself. So stay still, stay inconspicuous, and stay silent.

Let's be honest, though. He's hanging on by a thread. He's just so embarrassed that you've managed to get him this vulnerable and he's taking that out on you. You feel so warm and smell soo good. It's taking every ounce of restraint to hide his gasps and grunts from the spread crowd around you both. Trust they can't be concealed from you, though. You can hear everything. Not to mention feel everything. It's impossible to ignore him spreading his legs a bit and slowly rolling his hips into you.

If he's miserable and desperate, he'll make you feel even worse. Unless you'd rather sneak away and give him the blow job he deserves for putting up with you. Lend him you pussy for a while and he might even spare you a lecture about public decency once this trip is over. (How hypocritical.)

And he's lying. Of course you'll be getting properly disciplined when this is all over. A hands-on lecture is a must. Best not to worry about that now, though. Just enjoy the moment. He sure is.

("I should have known better than to humor you. To think I actually believed you might have been behaving decently for once.")

[moralcandy]

fifteen things that don't come back, by charlie slimecicle:

number one. the paper airplane you and your daughter throw at your husband while his back is turned in the kitchen, the two of you hiding behind the counter as you snicker quietly when he stops humming and yelps a curse as he turns around with a faux angry expression and a poorly-hidden smile.

number two. the glass your daughter broke trying to grab it from the cabinet on her tippy-toes. you didn't look over until you heard the glass shatter against the kitchen floor, too preoccupied with grabbing the jug of cold orange juice from the fridge to notice until it was too late. golden, afternoon sunlight shone warmly on the both of you from the open window as you swept it up while she stood to the side with a sheepish expression.

number three. your husband's soft shirt he let you borrow when you said you couldn't find your own but really you just quickly shoved yours under the bed when he wasn't looking. you absently noted that it smelled like him. your lips curved into a slight smile without input. your foot shoved your shirt under the bed a little bit farther.

number four. the pictures you took of your daughter and niece, hugging eachother as they posed for the camera, the photo incinerated into ash when you blew up your house. you frantically dug through your daughter's chest afterwards, soot covering your hands as you searched for the photograph. you did not find it.

number five. your niece.

number six. the feeling of a cold glass of wine held tipsily in your hand, the waterdrop of condensation slipping down the glass at the same pace your tears did down your cheeks. you downed the alcohol until there was nothing left except a burning feeling and a lump in your throat. the bartender did not give you another drink.

number seven. your friend, the one who used to laugh hysterically with you as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders before he began to scream at you while he wrapped his hands around your neck. he pushed you into the dirt, the metallic taste of blood in your mouth and the feeling of wet dirt on your skin as you absently question whether the water dripping on your face was the rain or the tears slipping down your friend's face. you know that was the funeral of your children, but you think both of the real 'you's died that day, too.

number eight. the warm, rumbling feeling of laughter in your chest as a smile hurts your cheeks, the sensation long gone. your mouth, for a moment, twitches into a small smile at the memory of the feeling.

number nine. the feeling of hands on your own, your husband's warm hands intertwined with yours as your cold, golden rings clink against eachother. your daughter's tiny hand clasped around yours as she leads you to a butterfly she found, grass brushing your ankles as you walk.

ten. the sound of your daughter's amused laughter, snorts interrupting occasionally. her head leans back as she giggles, her eyes scrunched up in happiness.

eleven. the sound of your husband's soothing voice, lilting with fondness as he looks at you. a smile absently crosses his face as he speaks, audible in his voice. you always remember smiling back.

twelve. your golden wedding band your husband lovingly slipped onto your ring finger so long ago, the one you furiously tossed into a dusty corner with particularily bad aim. you blame the poor aim on the tears blurring your vision, but it could've been the alcohol, really.

thirteen. your husband. you try to go to sleep in the center of your bed now, knowing that he won't be there. when you wake up, you always find yourself on the left side of the bed, as if you've moved in your sleep to accommodate someone. you scowl and think that your asleep self should stop being so stupid. ..you make the bed just in case he really does decide to come back.

fourteen. your daughter. whenever you make yourself breakfast now, you keep accidentally making two bowls, the muscle memory automatic, familiar, and no longer needed. you sit down at the table and set the bowls and begin to eat, but you always end up just stirring the cereal with your spoon as you stare at the untouched bowl across from you. you always end up throwing them both away. without your input, a frown tugs slightly at your lips as your pour out the second bowl but you know that nobody else was even here to eat it anyway. your eyes burn.

fifteen. your daughter, the one you know isn't the real one. sometimes you walk down those train tracks where you found her, hoping she'll be here this time. she never is. ..you still keep checking, just in case.

[greenerteacups]

when you finally write your way out of a scene that's taken you WEEKS to finish

[bromcommie]

He cannot get the bullet out, he thinks, he can't, and then he does. A little piece of grit to build a pearl around.

[llawlieta]

I love L outsourcing his moral compass to Soichiro

[johnslittlespoon]

tas gale calling john “baby” makes my knees go weak

i giggled bc same. but also i hope ur knees are okay after ch7 <33

[coquelicoq]

justice of toren collecting songs and one esk/breq constantly humming/singing them is such a good detail and ann leckie does so much with it. an incomplete list:

justice of toren's eager collection of songs is part and parcel of its violent destruction of cultures: these songs are cultural artifacts that it only learns because of its presence on those worlds during their conquest, and in many cases breq is the only one to remember them because their people have died out due to that violence. JoT preserves cultural artifacts for its own use at the same time it directly contributes to the need for that preservation in the first place.

the matter-of-fact way in which this is narrated to us gives us information about JoT's stance on respect and imperialism - that is, contrasted with other characters who look down on the conquered cultures, JoT does actually seem to appreciate their value. and yet it communicates to us no sense of remorse over its role in their genocide.

singing can be a communal activity. this allows us to feel the difference between one esk's multiple bodies singing together in harmony/in a round vs. breq singing alone. this has emotional weight, is an evocative image, and illustrates quite nicely some of the logistic considerations of having one vs. multiple bodies.

the constant humming/singing is extremely notable and idiosyncratic according to other characters, which is a dangerous combination for someone who's supposed to be undercover, so it adds a lil bit of fun suspense for us.

the fact that no one ever figures out breq's identity despite this giveaway tells us something about the other characters' attitudes towards artificial intelligences (though see below about seivarden).

the fact that it's so idiosyncratic also tells us something about the ability of individual AIs to have personalities that distinguish them from other AIs, and the fact that one esk sings constantly but two esk doesn't tells us something about the ability of different ancillary decades that are all part of the same AI to have distinguishing characteristics. this is very relevant to, and illustrative of, the series' thematic throughlines around identity, personality, continuity, etc.

the fact that breq personally has a bad voice also serves multiple purposes. because breq and seivarden both believe that the medic could have chosen a body with a good voice if she had wanted to, we can infer something about how ancillary bodies work, how much the AI (and, by extension, its medics) knows about the individual capabilities of those bodies while they're in suspension, and what kinds of things the AI can and can't control once it has unfrozen and taken over a body.

we can also draw conclusions about the medic that chose that body and about intracrew relations on that ship.

breq's bad voice creates moments of humor and irony in the narrative, such as when breq's constant singing - aka the most obvious clue that she is one esk - is precisely what makes seivarden so sure that breq can't be one esk, because no esk medic would use a body with a bad voice for an ancillary.

constant singing/humming imposes itself on the shared soundscape, meaning other people can't easily avoid it and it has the potential to annoy them, especially if the voice itself has annoying qualities. the reactions of other characters to the frequency and/or quality of this verbal tic tells us something about the level of affection those characters have for one esk or breq.

because singing involves words, the meaning of the lyrics being sung can be used to advance the plot, communicate things about specific characters, create irony in juxtaposition with what's happening on the page, etc.

i especially like what's done with the lyric "it all goes around". it's woven throughout the story in such a way as to manifest its own meaning (the repetition of "it all goes around" is, itself, an example of something going around). by repeating the lyric, breq is the one making it true, and i would argue that her repetition of this particular lyric about things orbiting other things contributes to, and/or is a sign of, her growing understanding of the necessity/reality of interdependence and her place in that framework/her role in constructing it, or in other words, the extent of her own agency and the rights and obligations it confers upon her.

because the singing/humming is a constant, background, automatic action, it only ceases when breq is experiencing a strong emotion. from this we are able to infer things about the emotional state of our famously-omits-details-about-her-emotional-state narrator based on other characters' comments about whether or not she is currently doing this thing.

we also aren't even aware that breq is doing it constantly until another character says so. on a narrative level, this serves the dual purpose of making sure we know about how much she hums AND of reminding us that she's not telling us everything.

the humming is not mentioned constantly even though it is happening constantly - this helps us forget in between mentions that it's going on while also simultaneously reinforcing just how constant it must be, so constant that to mention it every time it happens would be like narrating every time she breathes in or out. whenever someone brings it up, we are reminded anew that something has been happening all along that we forgot about. this means that ann leckie is able, by leaving information out, to hammer home to us how much we are not being told.

through this one character trait, ann leckie efficiently and elegantly communicates not just aspects of character but also of setting, plot, tone, theme, and narrative. there's no extraneous exposition just to tell us about the song collection or singing; everything that tells us about it is serving other functions in the narrative as well. the ways in which she manifests this one character trait in the universe and in the narrative contribute to and exemplify both the story itself and the method of its telling.

[thatswhatsushesaid]

man, but like.... why is there a contingent of jiang cheng stans who are incapable of stanning their special guy (totally justifiably! i support you!!) without shitting on jin guangyao in the process? why are these fans capable of doing deep narrative dives to understand and contextualize jiang cheng's justifiable actions re: wei wuxian and the wen remnants pre-timeskip, who write thoughtful screeds in defence of his feelings of anger and betrayal vis-a-vis the golden core reveal, but lose that capability entirely the second jin guangyao shows up?

is it because jin guangyao is mean to jiang cheng while trying to not get murdered as his whole life collapses around him? jiang cheng is a big boy, jin guangyao's carefully calculated spiel to provoke him during the guanyin temple confrontation doesn't even make the list of top ten most traumatic things to happen to him, he'll be fine.

feral jc stans should be friends with feral jgy stans because nobody else likes us 🥲

[augerer]

I think there’s a remarkable way in which the isekai doomed villain aspects of my next life as a villainess and the bisexual harem aspects gel together to create a metaphor for queer childhood. to me the most interesting way to view katerina is as a girl who is convinced from a young age that people around her are eventually going to subject her to a fate beyond her control and she’s going to be cast out, and this colors her entire perception of the world around her.

it feels very gay experience (though ofc not universal) to be like i have to overcorrect for the fact that one day everyone is going to hate me and exile me for something i can't help through being so kind and helpful to them.  i have to heal everyone around me.  or i will DIE.  they will KILL ME. i need to make myself essential to the people around me because something is inherently wrong with me that only i know about.  and then of course she self-conceives what is in large part her earnest desire to help the people around her as like "i am masterminding a dastardly plan to change my fate"  (read: feelings of duplicity and monstrousness as a gay child).

i also think there’s a way in which her revelation of her past life’s memories could have given her an uncomfortable or even predatory power over the people around her but it does not.  instead she reads very much as a child but like a child with an adult's sense of responsibility for the other children around her (in a world with horrible real adults)?  + mildly related point on the game mechanics aspect, i also like how neatly katerina’s backstory solves for some of her oblivious and quirky tendencies.  like of course she doesn’t think her friends are in love with her, she’s worried about them killing her.

anyway, on katarina/maria: it’s also soooo interesting that everyone is in love with her by the time she meets maria and the possibility she is going to be the "villain" who "dies" is 0 but she just doesn't know it.  but she meets her and is like she is so beautiful and charming and cool, that's why i'm so sure to meet an evil fate. . it’s so on the nose for like, the evil anvil that is going to fall on me which is proof that i’m doomed. . . is how wonderful and captivating this other girl is!  because of course it is, the crux of the issue is gay childhood.  [astronaut meme] “wait it was all about gay feelings?” “always has been”