#once upon a time i owned copies of those books and LOVED my copies

[thebirdandhersong]

songbird's brain: I think we ought to have a personal copy of the Chronicles of Narnia in our personal library. As a treat.

part of songbird's brain that has been keeping track of the literary 'treats' purchased in the past few months: says WHOSE WALLET

[zhongrin]

zhongrin © 2024 ❥ do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or feed into ai.

when your heart screams within your sealed lips…

(…. i hope i can at least be there to hold you.)

featuring... ❥ zhongli, al haitham, wriothesley, neuvillette, jing yuan, blade

involves... ❥ gn!reader, deeply personal blurbs (very self-indulgent), hurt with comfort (vague, with mentions of someone/people wronging/impacting you badly), probably ooc characters, mentions/implied retaliation by the characters

gilded golden lined fingers of a god dethroned gently weaves through your hair. for once, no words fell from your beloved’s lips, for zhongli knew that despite the silent night and the faux tranquility blanketing your dark bedchambers, your heart was screaming and writhing in pain.

the past few days, his amber eyes had followed you as you stumble and trudge through the thick mud of this whole mess you found yourself entrenched in. you may not realize his vigil over you, and countless times he had wished with all his heart, dreaming that you would sit with him to verbalize your troubles, seek his counsel, sought his aid - anything. anything but this foolish game of pretend, because he is not sure until when he can tolerate ignoring the vermin who has given you such unjust treatment.

perhaps in the morning the sky will darken and his wrath will descend upon the land you both walk on towards those who had wronged you. but for now, his anger simmers, bubbles, forges itself silently within his chest, tempered with the eons of expertise of molding metal. for now, he holds you like he’s holding a shattered bone china, like a craftsman appraising its damage before reshaping it with molten gold.

the price of violating the sanctity of a contract is steep, but the price of breaking your trust and betraying your kindness is steeper.

“you need not worry, my love. if there are moments where a god - retired as he may be - must pass judgment, it is now. a contract has been breached… and consequences shall follow.”

there aren’t too many things that can ruffle al haitham’s feathers. but seeing your eyes clouded with hurt and rimmed by veins of reds while you force a trembling smile on your lips as you welcomed him back home… it most definitely exceeds the annoyance from being forced to work overtime on a friday.

he’s glad he’s gotten used to reading you like a familiar book; your form fits snugly within his arms and your weight rests just right on top of his lap, not unlike the way a familiar book fits within his hand and weighs comfortingly in his hold.

“do you want to talk about it?” his comforting skills are a mixed copy of what he remembered from his grandmother and your own actions, carefully threaded and analyzed to fit the situations and the various variables within the scope of the equation. it’s methodical, logical, yet comforting all the same; it’s uniquely your al haitham.

whether you agree to open up to him or not, he’ll eventually find out. researching is one of his strongest skills after all, and when it comes to investigations, he has two strong cards to play: kaveh knows about almost all the gossips circulating in the city, and cyno is a strong advocate of justice who would be able to move independently given a whiff of the possibility of committed transgressions. if they wouldn’t do it for him, he’s sure they would at least feel empathetic towards you.

and if this perpetrator still insists on weaseling their way out of the law… well, he had been looking for a way to dispose that forbidden knowledge capsule, anyway.

wriothesley has never looked forward to arresting and 'welcoming' a criminal so much before.

impartiality is expected when you work in such field, but the agony you’ve gone through and he’d witnessed firsthand due to such heinous individual had been permanently etched in his brain. with each silent tears falling down your cheeks, it adds yet another scar upon his heart. he never fails to hold and comfort you every night, tries his very best to piece you together the best he can. but with how broken you were, he fears that you’ll never be the same.

he never wanted you to obtain a wound that cut so deep, it would leave a mark on your skin or your psyche. he’d take the bullet for you if he could. but with your insistence of dealing with the matter alone at first, he could only watch as you were ripped, torn, beaten.

he’s never felt like he wanted to utterly destroy a man as he catches your falling form and cradles it close to his chest.

so could you blame him when he personally goes on his way to make sure his newest, permanent prisoner feels absolutely unwelcome inside the fortress sunk deep beneath the waters?

after all, when the duke wants a criminal under his jurisdiction to suffer a fate worse than death, he needs no justification.

the word “guilty” had always tasted bitter on his tongue, like a sour, days-old water which had gone through several harsh conditions and became contaminated with environmental causes.

this particular “guilty”, however, he had said with the most conviction, with no pity nor sympathy, and its palate was of the freshest spring water of an untouched stream in the very nation he’s looking after. if the audience observes that the iudex looked colder and spoke with a voice so calm it’s almost obvious he was trying to conceal his fury, they did not say anything. it’s always been clearer than the reflection in the fountain of lucine; the fact that neuvilette holds you in the highest regard as his spouse.

so when you’ve been wronged?

naturally, when the opportunity for him to deliver justice on your behalf comes to him on a silver platter, he takes it with the most gratuity and takes the chance to personally hands down the verdict.

guilty, for the nights he had to hold you to sleep, for the mornings he had to assure you that you could go through the day, for the afternoons he had to check in to make sure you were busy and not wallowing in the murky depths of negative thoughts. guilty, for all the tears, the frustration, the mental strain, the self-hatred, and the bleeding wounds they’d inflicted upon your heart.

guilty, and for once, he finds himself wishing he could have handed down a death penalty.

“what’s troubling you?”

your husband loves his cuddles as much as his feline companions, and he’s just as sensitive to the changes in your mood as they do. with mimi sleeping and being your makeshift pillow, your cat curled right behind you, the fuzzy blanket pulled up to your waist, and your jing yuan holding you close as he continuously strokes your hair… if your heart weren’t so weary, it would have been a peaceful afternoon.

“you know you can tell this old man anything, yes, dearest?” a playful hum and a lazy grin rouses you out of your miserable thoughts, the muted colors filling with the warming golds of his eyes.

unlike inanimate chess pieces on a board, humans may veer off course from their planned routes and therefore proves finicky to handle to some. but to jing yuan, it is but one of the facets that makes human, human. so when you stubbornly try to avoid talking about it, he does not press further, nor does he feel anger.

time and time again, you’ve proven yourself stronger than steel; countless times you’ve proven you didn’t need his help, and it’s always reminded him of how resilient one could be in the face of adversity. still, he can’t help but fret whenever he’s deprived of witnessing the skips in your steps and the pleasant ring of your laughter. he may be patient, but he knows everything has its limits - both your tolerance and his fortitude, that is.

the general sighs and somewhat begrudgingly decides to give you a few more days. he’s gotten used to uprooting weeds growing in his garden after all these years; this, too, will not be any different.

“who did this to you?”

mara is truly a strange phenomenon.

while there are several things that could trigger his condition, if there’s one absolute causation which could decisively result in a mara-struck blade leading a whole carnage, it was seeing pearls of tears drop from your sullen eyes.

for a moment, he thinks it’s his fault. he’s not the best lover, and he has no doubt that you deserve better - but the moment you admitted you wanted him, broken and horribly disfigured as he was, you’ve filled the cracks in his being with you; you’re part of him, now. and he can’t bring himself to ever let go - but as you look into his eyes with the exhaustion of a broken soldier enduring one too many battles, he knows.

he knows he needs to fight a war you dare not tread.

“all i need is a name.”

through the desperation, there’s a hint of pleading in his voice. the hands cradling your cheeks are bandaged and bloodied with the blood of a billion lives, and he’s ever so grateful that you never flinch away from them. red spider lilies blooms ominously behind his gaze, lycorine bubbling like acid in his veins as he commits the memory of your lips forming the syllables, letter by letter. he’s not good at comforting people, so he does the best he could do: stay as close as possible as you rest against him, eventually falling into a tired slumber. blade carefully tucks you in, habitually presses a chaste kiss on your forehead, and sets off when you’re asleep.

if he’s already just a tool anyway, he would rather become the blade that pierces your enemies’ heart for your sake.

[shiftingparadise]

Only an idiot loses a girl like you (Gojo x you x Nanami)

Hi guys! This is just a quick idea I had in mind. I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: none

Word count: 1295

“Why?”, his head dropped.

Because you never have any time for me.

“Satoru-“, your eyes low. You didn’t mean to hurt him like this, to be insensitive toward his work, but you deserved more. “Are you in love with someone else?”. His voice never sounded so broken. This wasn’t the Satoru you knew. It was only a shell of the man you used to know. “No”, your grip around your bag tightened. “Where are you going?”. “To my old apartment”.

Your mind was made up. You wanted more than this; than what he could give you.

“Don’t do this, please”, desperation fell upon him. He didn’t want you to leave. He loved you, more than anything. “I’m sorry”, a silent tear fell from your cheek. “Don’t be, just stay”, he finally looked up, “We can work through this”.

That’s what you said last time, and the time before that, and before that…

“Satoru, I’m sorry but I… I can’t do this anymore”, you looked into his eyes. “What about Jujutsu High?”, he grabbed the counter behind him. “What about it?”. “We’ll still see each other”. “So?”, your brows pulled together, “Is that all you can think about right now? Work?”.

God, you were so sick of his obsession with his work. Sure, he was the strongest sorcerer and the students needed him, but so did you. Where was he when you needed him?

“Y/N-“, he realised his mistake. “Always thinking about your work”, you chuckled, “You know, I once admired that”. “Please-“, his hand reached out for you knowing it was futile. “But there’s more to life than work. I want someone to take me out to dinner, to surprise me, to go out on dates together. Someone who I can share my life with”, your voice broke. “I will-“, Satoru moved toward you. “It’s too late”, you walked to the door, “You’re too late, Satoru”.

—-

“Are you serious?”, you tilted your head. “You have to believe me!”, Yuji practically jumped from his seat, “It was Gojo-sensei who stole my book. He said he wanted to read in it”.

The worst part of it all was that you knew your student wasn’t lying.

“And your teacher didn’t think about asking a copy from me?”, your words died out as you realised why he didn’t.

The two of you barely spoke to each other after your breakup. Let alone he’d asked you in private for your copy.

“Why did he need it anyway?”, you placed your own copy on your student’s desk. “Let’s see…”, Yuji looked to the ceiling, “Oh, right! He said he needed to know a bit more about certain cursed objects”. “You can give him my copy”, you looked to the whiteboard behind you, “Now pay attention”.

—-

“You seem tired”, Nanami’s voice reached your ears.

You were resting your head on your desk. You didn’t realise, however, that one of your students left the door open after class.

“Those kids… They’re a handful”, you forced a smile as you straightened your back. “You seem a different kind of tired”, he coldly added as he stood in the hallway. “I guess I am”, you softly chuckled as you massaged the back of your neck. “I heard…”, Nanami seemed to doubt for a second, “About you and Satoru”. “Everyone has by now”, you sighed. The blonde stayed quiet, unsure whether to continue. “It’s fine”, you noticed his internal struggle, “It’s better like this”.

—-

“Don’t forget to write your essays!”, you yelled after your students, “And don’t let Gojo-sensei distract you with his stupid missions! Knowledge is important too!”.

You pinched the space between your brows as you heard their ‘yeah yeah’s’. It was obvious they enjoyed Satoru’s course more, but yours was important too. It was wrong of them to disregard your course like this.

“They are a handful”, Nanami’s voice startled you. “They need to study more”, you shook your head, “I understand that Satoru’s style of teaching is more hands-on and fun but they need to know about cursed techniques and cursed tools, about the history… It’s important”. “Give them time”, Nanami entered the classroom. “Here”, he placed a bag on your desk. “What’s this?”. “Food”, he looked to the ceiling, his hands in his pockets, “You’re skipping meals”. “You noticed?”, your eyes widened. “You’ve lost weight”, he brushed through his hair, “Eat”.

You stayed quiet for a second. This was the first time that someone had paid attention to you. That someone had put in the effort to notice you.

“Thanks”, you softly answered. He grabbed a chair and placed it in front of your desk. “Thought we could have lunch together. If you don’t mind”. “N-no, not at all!”, you hastily answered, “I’d like that”.

—-

Satoru wasn’t the only one who noticed the amount of time you spent with Nanami. Even his students noticed.

“Look, look!”, Nobara almost jumped in the air, “Y/N-sensei and Nanami-san are walking together again!”. “They’re just having coffee”, Megumi sighed, “Mind your own business”. “Are they dating?”, Yuji matched Nobara’s energy.

Megumi was the only one who knew about your relationship with Gojo. It wasn’t a secret to the others that worked at Jujutsu High, but it was for the students.

“Gojo-san?”, Megumi tried to distract him, “Can you give me more tips to attract Shinigami?”. “Of course”, Satoru ripped his eyes away from the two of you, “Well, let’s see… Where to start”.

—-

“Everyone did well”, you happily handed them back their assignments, “Please, keep up the good work”. “Y/N-sensei?”, Yuji raised his hand. “Yes?”. “Gojo-sensei gave this back”, he handed back your copy. “Thank you”, you smiled, “Now go on, enjoy your weekend”.

You watched as your students left the classroom.

“Finally, weekend”, you sighed as you picked up your copy. “Huh?”, you watched as a piece of paper fell to the floor.

“I’m sorry about everything. I miss you more than I can take”.

Your heart ached as you recognised Satoru’s handwriting. “It isn’t enough”, you softly whispered to yourself.

“Ready?”, Nanami smiled as he leaned against the door. “Ready”, you hastily put the note away. “You look lovely”, he held out his hand for you to take. “Liar, I look like a mess”. “I’m serious”, his touch felt soft, “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen”.

Your cheeks reddened. It was the first date you agreed to go on. Nanami had been asking you for weeks now, but you always refused. That was until yesterday when he showed up with a bouquet full of your favourite flowers. You still didn’t understand how he knew.

“Nothing too fancy, right?”, you watched as he opened the door of his car for you. “I promise”. “Really? Because I just got off work…”. “Don’t worry”, he sat down behind the wheel, “Here”.

You watched as he grabbed a bag from the backseat.

“We’ll stop at your apartment first. You can change”, he smiled, “If you want too, of course”. “What’s this?”, your heart raced.

You carefully opened the bag, only to find a beautiful dress inside.

“You got this… For me?”, you barely whispered. “I’m sorry”, he started to panic, “I didn’t mean to offend you. You look perfect but I knew you wouldn’t feel comfortable going out with your work clothes, and I wanted to surprise you that’s all-“. “It’s perfect”, you tried not to cry, “I… I don’t know what to say”.

You felt his hand on your thigh. His touch felt kind. Kinder than Satoru’s ever did.

“You can start off by promising me this isn’t our last date”, he gently joked. “You’re an idiot”, you chuckled. “No idiot has a woman like you sitting beside him”, he softly pinched in your thigh, “And only an idiot loses a woman like you”.

[ashmouthbooks]

2023 in books

better late than never, right?

2023 was a relatively slow year for me in bookbinding, but I still made 30+ books. (ask me how much time I spent on my other hobbies and it becomes clear why books were fewer.)

A5 books

the first A5 of the year was an entry for a bookbinding competition (which I didn't win), where the theme was climate change. I had a lot of fun putting it together and it was the first time I made an A5 tête-bêche book - I usually do these A6 or A7 size.

this was also the year I decided to start a collection of menocchio fics, which also led to experiments with printing directly onto bookcloth to get titles on the spine

what's fun about bookbinding is that you can Just Make A Book, but you can also Get Ideas And Run With Them with it. which is how I wound up with this black on black book. destiel necromancy fic, because of course it is

going back to something more colourful...Ulysses. not the James Joyce one, the slowburn 00Q one. named for a Tennyson poem.

final A5 book of the year is my Renegade Exchange book, which I bound for Silent Sun Press - a Crowley-centric genfic with outsider POV, so naturally I went for TV!Gomens colour schemes

A6 and A7 books

I started the year ambitiously - in addition to entering a competition, I started my urchin specials project. thus far I've still only bound these first three books for the project, but I plan to do more. first dustjackets as well!

I continued with the no-glue pamphlets and did three

I joined the Tiny Books Exchange, and as a proof of concept - before I typeset an A7 sized tête-bêche - I did a little tête-bêche of the two Temeraire fics I wrote for yuletide once upon a time

then followed of course the Tiny Book I bound for the exchange - my copy (test & proof of concept, bottom), the giftee copy (green, top right), and the author copy (blue, top left)

I typeset a lot more than I bind - I have plans to bind so and so, so I typeset it, but don't always have the time to bind it right away. so I have folders full of typesets ready to go at a moment's notice. this one was typeset a whole year before I bound it

are these paperbacks or just very slim hardbacks? I call them paperbacks as I used 0.5mm boards and they have no spine, but ymmv

this one definitely is a hardback - with slightly thicker boards, a spine, and two fics in one book. I do love those tête-bêches

at my work we have a lot of deliveries wrapped in this nice recycled brown paper that was just going into the recycling bin, and I thought: why not make books out of it? so I played around with it (and my printer) and came up with a neat aesthetic for paperbacks with breakaway spines (using 0.5mm boards)

will I ever stop with the tête-bêches? no. also this one has endpapers made from SEAWEED. how cool is that?

the last A6 of the year is this little collection of my own stories for a tiny Danish fandom. detectives and trauma, but make it about food? yes. food and cooking themed endpapers and cover papers, and the dustjacket has fake coffee stains on it. perfect

and that is all, folks. I did a lot of different styles and types of binding this year, I had fun with it, I learned a lot, and I'm happy with what I've created.

[txttletale]

bundletober #7: this party sucks

hello and welcome to bundletober, the numinous ritual that shall call down the damnation of angels upon our deserving heads. today's game is this party sucks by beating the binary

i won't beat around the bush: i was primed to not like this game much, which is maybe uncharitable--but games making a big deal of how 'queer' they are in their marketing copy always puts me off. this might stem back to my love-hate relationship with thirsty sword lesbians and that game's chronic tone problem, or i might just be a cynical bitch. but this party sucks surprised me in a good way. it's a pretty simple game: it's about a single protagonist (control of whom rotates around the table) going to a bunch of parties to try not to think about their ex, having a bad time, and then thinking about their ex. it's the kind of razor-sharp concept that i think TTRPGs should tackle more (or, rather, that the hundreds of TTRPGs tackling should get more attention) and imo it pulls it off well.

i've been talking a bit on the horizon machine blog about safety tools and which ones i like and don't like--this party sucks does something surprising and invents a brand new safety tool that i actually like a lot. i mean, it's by the author's own admission half safety tool and half play aid and half joke. but it does all those things really well

the IFCOBPC card is a really funny and fantrastic concept and it fits perfectly in this game -- it's a game about a queer awkward twentysomething and that also seems to be the obvious target audience, and it's a play and design space i haven't seen explored--a way to signal this kind of over-the-table emotional response without a complex mechanical framework or the extremely serious and weighty context of x-cards & the like

the other thing i like about this party sucks is that it's specifically three-player. this is a game for three people to play, there are three books, you rotate them round once each, and everything in the game is designed for that. i like this kind of restriction, because it's much easier to design tightly around three people than, say, '3-5' -- and it shows! the division of play roles into the Protagonist, the Venue, and Other People at the party makes perfect sense and gives everyone a fair amount to do. as someone who was a 'forever DM' back when i still played d&d, i now adore games that clearly delineate and distribute narrative power and responsibility.

one last thing--this party sucks has an epilogue mechanic, a real ending. and i love that! ending one-shot games in a satisfying way can often feel difficult, and having a set of prompts asking you to decide on what happens after the game is over is a great way to provide guidance for that. ultimately, though, as much as i talk about tight design, what really made the focus on queerness in this party sucks work for me when for the most part it doesn't in thirsty sword lesbians is the tone--there's a frank first-person tone, no attempt to put on a narratorial persona, only the designer talking about the game from what is clearly and unabashedly their own perspective.

if you want me to look kindly upon your game as a labour of love, talk openly about that love and about that labour in the game's text. you're allowed to do that--often, it will make that game better.

this party sucks is available for purchase as a digital download or a physical zine from itch.io

[amuseoffyre]

You've mentioned that the quote "There will come a tempest, and darkness, and great storms and the dead will leave their graves and walk the earth once more and there will be great lamentations. Every day, it’s getting closer" from Gabriel/God is a mash up of different bible quotes about the second coming. Do you know which ones? I'd love to see an in depth analysis of this, it seems super important, but I haven't seen a lot of talk in the fandom. Who does the tempest refer to? My apologies if you've already talked about this in your metas.

There's stuff scattered all over the place, so I'll try and find the ones I can remember:

And there were voices, and thunders, and lightnings; and there was a great earthquake, such as was not since men were upon the earth, so mighty an earthquake, and so great. (Revelation 16:18)

For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first (Thessalonians 1:4)

And there will be great earthquakes in various places, and famines and pestilences; and there will be fearful sights and great signs from heaven. (Luke 21:11)

For then shall be great tribulation, such as was not since the beginning of the world to this time, no, nor ever shall be. (Matthew 24:21)

You can see they all share a very similar vibe of "ALL WILL BE BAD AND EVERYONE WILL BE IN DISTRESS"

There's also a lot of stuff in/around the death of Jesus with similar terminology and metaphors with saints crawling out their graves and things like that. But especially the Revelation quote - that's the book mentioned in season one of the show. Aziraphale owns a signed copy of the scroll of St. John of Patmos (aka the saint who wrote the book of Relevation, which is the Go-To text for the end of the world stuff).

Generally, I think the whole little speech is foreshadowing the Second Coming (aka the plot of season 3), because a lot of those quotes are direct references in the Bible to the death and return of Jesus.

However, I'm also pretty much sure this is God speaking directly through Gabriel, because if you listen, there's a second voice - a female voice - overlaying his. Gabriel was always her messenger and I have this whole other theory about God's absence from this season and the significance of Gabriel saying his memory is "everywhere". I think he's catching fragments of God's memories and spouting them, ie. the prophecies and things she has said to prophets. He quoted what she said to Job first and now this? Not a coincidence.

[catsafarithewriter]

Day 1: Red Thread of Fate

A/N: Hello, and welcome to day 1 of the 2024 TCR Birthday Bash! Today's prompt is "red thread of fate" and I decided to go down a fairytale-esque vibe.

However this is the one that got away from me, and once I hit 4K I realised I needed to split this up, for my own sanity. So other half of this story (muse willing!) will be on Day 5: Bodyguard.

Enjoy!

x

Baron is quite accustomed to his appearance making a stir – after all, he does have the face of a ginger tabby cat – but as he ignores the whispers of the court around him, he can't help think a household with a cursed heir should really know better.

The servants eye him from the corner of their gaze, bodies angled carefully to their duties, but their attention drawn invariably to him. The ladies murmur behind their fans and the men make no attempt to hide their mouthed comments passed on smirking lips, and the lord of the estate makes the least effort of all to obscure his gaze. Baron can feel himself being measured – from the feline features, to the tired but well-made suit, to the stone crow carved atop his cane – and found wanting.

Still, Baron didn't come to win approval. He glances briefly to the younger woman at the lord's side. Her eyes meet his, carrying all the curiosity of her neighbours, but neutral in every other respect – unlike the guard standing at her elbow. He scowls as Baron approached, but it feels strangely impersonal. Baron suspects he'd receive the same glower if he'd arrived human and dressed in gemstones.

Baron bows, and the whispers shift. He is sure he hears a fan-muffled, "Well, at least he knows his manners."

"My lord," Baron addresses, in a voice that had once been taught to command a room's attention, "I am Baron Humbert von Gikkingen, and I have come in hopes of breaking the curse on your daughter." He nods respectfully to the woman on the lord's left. "Lady Haru, I presume."

She inclines her head to him, a diplomatic smile offered in return.

A bespectacled man at the lord's shoulder coughs. He looks to be a scholar but, given his placement on the dais, Baron suspects he is instead an advisor. "If I may be so bold," the man begins, with the tone indicating this is a polite sentence starter and not actually asking for permission, "but if you have come hoping to break two curses with true love's kiss, then you will be sorely disappointed."

Baron smiles. "Then it is just as well I came with no thoughts of my own curse, and have not in the half-dozen years since it became permanent." He does not add - as fitting as it may be - that if Lady Haru's curse is also time-sensitive, then she has likely missed her deadline as well, judging her age to be akin to his. "Since then, I have devoted myself to travelling and helping those I meet – which is precisely what brought me to your home today."

"And how exactly do you propose to break Lady Haru's curse if you were unable to break your own?" the advisor asks. He peers doubtfully over his spectacles at Baron. "Are you a wizard?"

"I possess a touch of magic, self-taught through books, but I rely primarily on the knowledge, rather than the magic, of my extensive library."

"And where is this library, pray tell?"

"At hand," Baron says, and plucks a book out of thin air. In his library, it belongs on the fourth bookshelf along the west wall, three shelves up, five across. He tosses it to the advisor, who catches it clumsily with sleeve-obscured hands.

"A Gentleman's Guide to Courtly Manners?" the advisor reads.

"Keep it. Consider it a gift of goodwill, if by chance your library doesn't already possess a copy."

He is sure he sees Lady Haru smirk, if only for a heartbeat.

"Onto the matter at hand," Baron says, before anyone else can discern the veiled insult in his donation, "while I have heard many speak of the curse laid upon the Yoshioka line, few seem to know its exact nature."

"Remove your gloves," the lord commands, "and then we shall speak."

Baron doesn't respond immediately. He glances subtly across the court, to see if this is some sort of joke – but the faces are eager, open. Some further back are even straining their heads above the crowds. The advisor readjusts his glasses in preparation.

"If you wish," Baron replies, and tugs off both gloves.

There is a reason he wears the gloves; his hands are as altered as the rest of him, padded on the palms and furred along the back. Even regardless of the advantages of sheathing his claws (books never fare well with them) he has discovered people find them... unnerving.

Still, the court exhales a collective breath of... what? Disappointment? Relief? Certainly a far cry from the usual discomfort.

"Does that meet your approval, sir?"

"It will suffice."

Baron smiles wanly. "I have removed my gloves, sir. Now I believe you promised me a tale."

"There is precious little to tell," the lord dismisses. "In my younger years, I angered a fairy who sought revenge by later placing a curse on my only daughter. Haru."

The name is a command, not an introduction, and at her name, Lady Haru sheds her own silken gloves. Baron waits for the reveal, but her hands look perfectly ordinary – save for a thin red thread bound about her left little finger. As she turns her hands over, Baron sees the end of the thread seemingly vanish into nothing.

"At the other end of that thread is the man my daughter is fated to marry," the lord says. "I want you to find a way to destroy it."

"Why? Is the man not of her favour?"

"The man is impossible to find," the lord replies. "Since my daughter was a babe, I have searched far and wide to find one who posseses the other end of the thread, but all in vain. At this rate, my line shall end here, as doubtlessly the fairy intended. Find a way to free my daughter from this curse, Baron Humbert von Gikkingen, and you shall be covered with jewels."

The advisor critically assesses Baron's height. "Or at least up to the shoulder," he adds.

x

As Baron steps into the lord's library, alone at last, the stone crow atop his cane uncurls into life. It fixes him with a baleful stare. "That little book trick was needlessly petty."

Baron circles the room, assessing the titles on display. "They earned it."

"And if the lord had taken insult? I would have thought you, of all people, would understand the importance of first impressions."

"To take insult, Toto, the lord must first recognise his own lack of manners, and then be willing to acknowledge that to the court." He pulls free a tome and flicks it open. "As it is, it appears my little joke flew over the heads of most."

"I thought it was funny," comes a voice from the doorway.

Baron snaps the book shut and turns to their guest. He bows. "Ah, Lady Haru. What a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"I thought it wise to meet the most recent 'hero' intent on breaking my curse." She enters, and the bulking form of her guard shadows her. The man is built like a mountain, and about as intimidating. Lady Haru must read something of that in Baron's face, for she adds, "Oh, don't mind him. That's just Muta – he has a heart of gold once you get to know him."

Muta doesn't look like he's interested in getting to know Baron – perhaps unless it's introducing his face to a brick wall.

"The most recent?" Baron echoes, choosing to focus on a safer topic at hand. "How many have tried to break the curse?"

"It depends. Are we counting the snakeoil merchants, or only those who honestly thought they could provide a cure?" She stands across the room from him, but even from that distance, Baron can see she looks more alive than she had by her father's side. She shrugs – the action is loose, easy. "I suppose it doesn't matter – I've lost count of both. But it's been a while since someone has tried. Your crow talks, by the way."

Baron glances down to Toto, still perched atop the cane. "I wouldn't do him a disservice by calling him my crow – he is his own – but yes. This is Toto."

Toto bobs his head in the nearest thing a bird can achieve to a bow. "Delighted."

Lady Haru grins. "You, sir," she says to Toto, "could teach the court a thing or two about manners." She nods her head in return. "Forgive my forwardness, but weren't you a cane when you arrived?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Okay."

"It's a form he often takes upon our arrival somewhere new," Baron explains, in lieu of Toto. "Sometimes it has its uses to have a pair of eyes unknown to others."

"And he likes the drama with my reveal," Toto adds. His tone is fond – but still notably judgemental.

Lady Haru's grin becomes conspiring. "I won't tell a soul."

There comes a series of bells from further within the estate.

"Chicky," the guard warns. "We gotta go."

Lady Haru nods. "Sure. Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Baron von Gikkingen, and Toto of the cane."

"My friends call me Baron," Baron says. "Or, at least, Toto does, and he's the only friend I have. I would be honoured if you would do the same."

Lady Haru pauses, hand against the door jamb. "My friends call me Haru," she says. "At least, they would if I had any."

Muta snorts. "What am I, furniture?"

"You're practically family, Muta," Lady Haru shoots back. "Anyway, do you want me to invite him to call me Chicky, too?"

"Just Haru's fine."

"Good." She glances back to Baron. "I'll see you around, Baron."

Baron bows. "As you wish, Haru."

x

"Well," Baron says once the room is theirs again. "She seems..."

"Surprisingly okay with siding against her father?" Toto offers.

"I was going to say nice."

"You only say that because she liked your book trick."

"It is nice to know someone in this place has a sense of humour," Baron admits. He sighs and rounds back to the desk. "Well, time to see if I can deliver on my promise. And our first port of call: establishing what my predecessors have tried."

x

The Yoshioka household keep extensive records of all official attempts made to break Haru's curse – although by the perfect (albeit dusty) conditions of the paperwork, Baron supposes he is the first in a long while to check. Possibly ever, actually, considering how many hopeful heroes have repeated past methods.

Even so, it takes the good part three days to collate all the details into one set of notes.

Baron closes the current record and glances down at his efforts. At the start, his notes had been detailed, but by this point they've devolved into a tally score. The movement draws Toto's attention.

"So? What's the verdict?"

"The verdict," Baron says, looking at the long row of tallies for 'cut with blade', "is that I'm amazed Haru has the patience to speak to any aspiring saviour after everything she's been through. Do you know how many times she's had to deal with leeches?"

"I'd really rather not."

"Or the number of potions, elixirs, or panaceas of dubious origins she's been given?" Baron ruffles through his notes. "I think this one is just ditchwater and salt. How about the attempt to override it with another curse, or the three times she's allegedly had to drink powdered unicorn horn? One man even suggested severing the finger in question!"

"Her father allowed that?"

"My father promised to cover the man with jewels if it succeeded," Haru says. She grins ruefully from the doorway she's appeared at, but there is a bite behind the smile. "When that didn't work, he suggested removing the hand entirely, but my father drew the line at that. Apparently it would 'hamper my marriage prospects.' So," she says, "what's the verdict?"

Baron startles back to his notes, still trying to process Haru's nonchalant admittance of her father's willingness to take a butcher's knife to her. "It's... extensive, the attempts made..."

"And repetitive," Haru adds. She perches on the arm of a chair, close enough to spectate but still keeping her distance. "When I heard you had requested the official records, I had to come see for myself. I'm impressed." She leans forward. "Verdict?"

"If my spat of research is enough to impress you, then I am mortified on behalf of my predecessors," Baron says.

"I meant on my curse," she clarifies, but not without humour.

"On your curse? That the fairy did a very good job." Baron picks through his notes, but he can't help but feel pleased at Haru's smile. "Given the... numerous attempts to cut the thread with a blade, it is clear that it cannot be severed by any means. Indeed, it seems to be intangible to all but yourself, and while you can make contact with it while holding a blade, the blade makes no mark on it."

"People always seemed so smug to think up that solution," Haru says. "All they needed to do was ask me – I've known since I was a child that I couldn't cut it."

Baron files this remark away for later inspection. Something about it seems off, but now is not the time.

"People have tried following the thread, burning it, cursing it, uncursing it, cleansing it, all to no avail. In cases where removal of the thread involved... more than just the thread," Baron says, as tactfully as he can manage, "the blade couldn't even cut the skin, let alone remove anything substantial." He tries to ignore the metallic taste the words leave in his mouth, and looks over to Haru. "Is your little finger invincible then, or...?"

She laughs, and a little of the tension dissipates. "No, but that would be nice. No, I've had my fair share of paper cuts and bruises and the like, but when it came to purposeful removal..." She shrugs. "It's almost like the curse knows the intent. It's an ordinary finger until you try to detach it, and then suddenly it's diamond as far as a knife is concerned."

"Just as well, otherwise you would have crushed the finger of anyone you pinky swore with."

"Pinky swore?" she echoes.

Baron blinks. "It's a children's way of making promises. You curl your little finger around the other person's, and then you make a promise. Like this."

Before he can fully process what he's doing, he's leaning across from the desk and intertwining his little finger with Haru's.

"See?"

She freezes.

Suddenly he realises he's holding the finger about which the curse rests – a finger prodded and poked so many times only the magic bestowed on it has probably kept it from turning black and blue... if not worse. He stammers out an apology, makes to retreat, but her finger curls tighter around his with the strength as if it is diamond.

"Like this?" she asks. "Now what?"

From this distance, he can see the way the light catches in her eyes and the way her shoulders square, as if preparing to fight or preparing to laugh and ready for it either way.

"Now I make a promise."

"And what will you promise, Baron von Gikkingen?"

He likes the way she says his title, bereft of awe or hunger, but teasingly instead.

"I promise," he says, and he lingers over his answer. Despite her jokes and her humour, he's also seen the glimmer of a shadow – not just in the corners of her smile, but in the ink of the records too, in the years documented where she has been little more than a riddle to be solved, a puzzle promising riches.

This feels like a test, set by her.

He could assure her he will undo her curse, save her from her fate – but every predecessor of his has promised that, in one form or another.

He could offer something more heartfelt, something genuine to show he understands – but then he remembers her comment about snakeoil merchants. She knows people are capable of saying the prettiest lies with crocodile smiles, promising remedy or help or care, if it gets them what they want. He wonders if any promised her more than a cure – if they set their sights higher than jewels and eyed marriage into the esteemed Yoshioka family.

He wonders how many promised Haru their heart, in hopes of a rich bride.

"I promise," he starts again, "to never use leeches."

She laughs, and he can feel the way it shakes through her from their joined hands. He's passed. "Or ditchwater elixirs?" she asks with a grin.

"Not even with salt," he promises.

x

"Baron," Toto says later, "you absolutely cannot fall in love with her."

"Absolutely," he agrees cheerily. "Cannot, will not, shall not. All the nots."

"Baron. I mean it. Even if you manage to break her curse, do you think her father will approve her marrying someone like yourself?"

Baron raises an eyebrow at Toto. "Do you really have such low opinion of me that you think a pair of pretty eyes and a good sense of humour are enough to make me forgo all sense?"

"I had hoped not," Toto says, "but you're the one calling her eyes pretty."

x

It takes a couple more days for Baron to search through his own library in search of possible remedies. The story of joined lovers is not unknown in his homeland – although the terminology tends to be soulmates – and some books even mention a red thread. No, the difficulty lies in the fact that nowhere is this connection considered a curse.

"At least," he says to Toto, "not by the end. Oh, there are plenty where people ignore it, or try to escape it, but then they fall in love with their fated other half, even if they don't know it. Nowhere does it say how to break a red thread."

"The fairy knew how to lay a curse then," Toto says. "Give an unwanted blessing."

Baron stills. His head tilts in a way that sends Toto's stomach plummeting.

"What is it? What have you just thought of, Baron?"

"There's no record of anyone attempting to find the fairy who laid Haru's curse. Perhaps if they can be found – reasoned with–"

"Then maybe they'll curse you for good measure too," Toto finishes dryly. "You, of all people, should know how capricious fairies can be."

"I'm already cursed, Toto. What else can they do?"

"Lots! How do you feel about spending the rest of your existence as a tree? Or a statue? How about spitting toads every time you talk?"

Baron pauses. "That's a real curse?"

"It's the sibling curse to the blessing where you spit jewels."

Baron considers this. "Spitting jewels doesn't seem much better. Probably hurts more, because at least frogs are soft. What if you sleeptalk? What if you talk while you're eating? What if you swallow them?"

"Remember what I said about fairies being capricious?"

"And yet this is the best lead we've found so far. No one else has tried it yet."

"For good reason."

Baron rises to his feet. It feels good to be moving forward after nearly a week of looking back. "We shall never know if we don't try."

x

"Impossible," the lord says.

Baron smiles, because that's a safer expression than any he might otherwise inadvertently give. "Some would call a red thread of fate or a man with the face of a cat impossible, and yet our world is made of such things. Who are we to determine what is impossible or not?"

"The fairy does not want to be found," the lord retorts.

"And the curse doubtless does not want to be broken, and yet I persevere in the latter. If this can free your daughter, then surely it is worth pursuing–"

"I forbid it," the lord growls.

Baron's mouth snaps shut, curtailing any fine-worded arguments to the contrary. His smile remains, frozen in place, but gone from his eyes. "I see."

x

"You're not going to listen to my father, are you?" Haru asks. She sits, perched on the steps of a bookcase ladder. Baron wonders if she has an allergy against sitting in an actual chair. "You're going to try to find the fairy, right?"

"Lady Haru, the lord of the estate made it quite clear no attempts were to be made in that department," Baron says breezily. "So, naturally, I shall not. But, for good measure, I should probably know all that is already known about the fairy, so that I don't accidentally find them."

"Naturally," Haru echoes, with that familiar conspiring grin. "What do you need to know?"

"Anything, at this point."

"Well then, prepared to be disappointed," Muta grunts. The guard keeps his distance from Baron, but Baron has no doubt that should he attempt anything untoward, Muta would be there in an instant. "When the fairy came to curse Haru, they were robed. No one saw anything of them."

Toto hops across the desk, eyeing Muta. "And you saw this?"

"Muta became my guard only after the curse was struck," Haru says. "But my father and the rest of the court has spoken about it at length. It seems even the fairy's voice was impossible to describe – everyone heard the fairy speak in their own voice."

Baron's shoulders drop. "So, there's nothing to identify them."

"Well... there was the peasant girl."

"Peasant girl?"

"Chicky, if yer father heard you talking of such things..." Muta trails off. "You know he's already reluctant to let you spend time here."

Haru's mouth twists into an unhappy line, but she does not counter her guard's point.

Baron flips a book open, and it does a little to alleviate the strange silence. "Well, in absence of our finding the fairy, we must be moving on to other options. Now, I believe I read here that there is a spring nearby rumoured to possess healing powers..."

"That's already been tried," Haru says.

"Yes, twelve times," Baron agrees. "What harm will one more visit do?"

"Lord Yoshioka knows you've studied the records," Muta says. "He knows you know it won't work."

"True, but how about..." Baron flicks through his notes for inspiration, "mixing salt and powdered unicorn horn into the springwater?"

Haru's nose wrinkles. "You have powdered unicorn horn?"

"No, but no one will know I don't."

Now it is Muta's turn to pull a face. "And how are yer gonna pull that off? Put a little chalk in and hope no one can tell the difference?"

Baron catches Haru's eye, and he can see the exact moment she cottons on. She clasps her hands demurely before her, the very picture of a meek and mild maid. "Such an auspicious visit should be done in meditation, don't you think, Muta? With a small entourage, so that I can better achieve the necessary reflection to partake in such a pilgrimage." She raises her head, smirking. "What do you think?"

"Drop the pilgrimage line, Chicky. It's only an hour by carriage."

x

It takes some persuading, but eventually the lord agrees to the spring visit – with some caveats. Firstly, that Haru's guard will accompany them. (Reasonable, Baron admitted. After all, he has just suggested taking the only Yoshioka heir into the depths of a forest. If he was in the kidnapping business, this would practically be a gift wrapped opportunity.)

And the second is...

Well, Baron knows the man's name to be Natoru, but that is all Baron is sure about. The man in question is short and plump, and carries a permanent smile and a scroll and, as far as Baron can discern, Natoru is here to record the event.

The fact that Natoru has been sent – and not the undoubtedly more senior advisor – makes it clear how little stock Haru's father has put in this attempt succeeding.

That's fine by Baron. If this little outing does cure the curse, then Baron will be the most surprised of all.

The carriage ride to the edge of the forest where the enchanted spring lies is mostly in silence – or at least for the majority of the carriage's occupants. Haru wears a mask of serene grace, and Baron makes a similar show of determined concentration, while Muta is sat out in the driver's seat.

Natoru chatters.

(The speed at which Muta had insisted upon taking the reins (and his further assurance of no passenger space in the driver's seat) makes Baron wonder if he knew just how much Natoru can talk. He doesn't want to assume but... well, if the boot fits...)

So when they reach the forest's edge, Baron is quick to depart, leaping down from the carriage and offering a hand to Haru.

"Lady Haru wishes to make her approach to the spring in meditative silence," he tells Natoru. "So it is best, I think, if you go on straight ahead, and we shall make our slow approach."

Natoru flusters – there's no other word for it – wringing his hands with evident distress. "Oh, but I'm meant to record everything that happens! For posterity! I should be there."

Muta jumps down from the driver's seat. The carriage bounces from the release. "Buddy, it's a half hour walk in absolute silence. It's gonna be, what, two lines at most in the record? You ain't missing anything."

"Well, I suppose..."

"And this way, you can be assured the spring is ready when we arrive," Baron adds. "Ensure there's no unpleasant surprises waiting for us."

"A very good point!"

They watch Natoru's bustling form vanish into the forest. No one speaks until they are quite sure he's not about to bounce back.

"What's his official title, again?" Baron asks.

"I don't think he has one," Haru replies. "Yes-man?"

Toto stirs into life, shrugging off his wooden façade. "Be glad he's no sharper, or he might have taken more to shake. I don't wish to pressure, but we should probably start making tracks, before even he becomes suspicious. You said something about a peasant girl, Haru?"

"Well, I suppose she'll be a peasant woman by now," Haru says. She steps into the forest with such surety that Baron has no difficulty believing she has traced this trail a dozen times. "She was under the care of the fairy who cursed me."

"Like a godmother?" Baron offered.

"A what?"

"Someone who's not blood-family, but who still has a duty of care for a child," he explains.

"Oh. Yes, I suppose you could call it that. Anyway, when my father came of age, his father threw a series of balls – three masquerade dances over three nights – and on each night, a mysterious woman dressed finer than even an empress arrived."

Haru hitches her skirts as the trail narrows, and Baron falls behind her. He leans forward to push the branches around her face out of her way. She throws him a smile that immediately makes the inconvenience worth it.

"On the first two nights, the woman fled at the stroke of midnight, but on the third and final night, my father slathered the stairs to the ball with tar."

Baron falters. Several twigs slap into Haru's face. "Sorry! He what?"

"Tar," Muta says. "On the stairs. Weren't yer listening?"

"Of course, I just... tar, really?"

"It nearly worked too," Haru continues, unfazed. Baron supposes she's had several decades to come to terms with it. "Only, she slipped out of her trapped shoe instead, and still ran. But my father was intent on discovering who this mystery lady was, and so announced that he would marry whomever the abandoned slipper fitted."

"Wasn't that risky, though?" Toto asks. "After all, there surely were a good number of young women who would be a potential fit?"

"It was a slipper clearly created by magic," Haru explains, "made from glass that no mortal craftsman could replicate. And it seemed to work – no matter who tried it, even if it looked right, it never fitted. That is, until a scullery maid stepped forward."

Baron tilts his head. "A happily ever after for all," he says. "But I fail to see how this translates to angering a fairy. Was he intended for another?"

"He didn't marry her," Haru says. "Once he realised that she wasn't an empress, not even a high-born lady, but a servant girl favoured by a fairy godmother, he refused. He smashed the slipper and claimed another woman – a lord's daughter – had fitted it instead. And he believed nothing would come of it – until I was born." She picks up her feet and continues into the forest. "And that's when the fairy cursed me."

"Because of your father's actions?" Baron demands. He hurries after her, resorting to his cane to keep the narrowing path at bay.

"Wielding the other glass slipper and decrying my father for refusing true love in favour of riches," Haru says. "So the story goes, anyway. The fairy claimed that the scullery maid was under their protection, and for his callousness, I would bear a fate worthy of being his daughter." She waves her hand airily. "And poof, red thread of fate. Honestly, if you ask my father, he'll say the fairy must have bound me to someone who's already dead, or some other impossible soul."

"And you?" Toto asks.

"I think it'd be far more fitting if I'm bound to a peasant," Haru replies. "Perhaps a pig farmer. Or a miller. Maybe a shepherd."

"Your father implied your soulmate was impossible to find," Baron says.

Haru snorts. It's decidedly unladylike and a clear indicator, Baron suspects, of how much time she has spent around Muta. "My father has only searched as far as the nobility, and refuses to consider anyone who hasn't got a title. There's probably a fisherman somewhere with a red string around his thumb and no idea what it means."

"And you?" Toto asks. "Does it matter to you if your soulmate has a title?"

"Why would it? Even before I was cursed, I was never going to have a say in who I married. If I didn't have the curse, I would have been long ago married off to whomever my father decreed fit." She shrugs. "I still may not have a choice, but at least I should love them. That's what a soulmate is meant to be, right? Someone you're fated to be with?"

Baron's heart twinges. He studiously ignores it. "Haru, would you prefer it if we found your soulmate instead of breaking the curse?"

Haru snorts again. "If you do, be prepared to start running. My father will have you diced and fed to the koi fish if I end up marrying a pig farmer."

It wasn't a no.

x

To nobody's surprise, the spring trip doesn't work. That's fine, Baron never expected it to. Instead, he thinks on the journey home, brow knitted in concentration.

The key, he decides, is the scullery maid. A fairy might be able to disguise their form and vanish as the need takes them, but mortals are usually far easier to track. And if the fairy really considers themselves a godmother-like figure, they won't have just abandoned the maid the moment Haru's father rejected her.

"The difficulty is," he remarks to Toto as he later pores over yet another record, "the lord did a very good job at scrubbing all mention of her from history."

"Did you expect anything less?" Toto asks. "You wouldn't have even known about her had Haru not told you. It embarrasses him."

"He fell in love. That happens."

"He fell in love with her riches," says a voice from the door. Baron looks up, expecting to see Haru accompanying Muta, but it's only the guard. His disappointment must have been plain in his face, for Muta chuckles disdainfully. "She ain't here. She's off meeting another potential suitor for when her pa's able to marry her off."

"Oh." It occurs to Baron, not for the first – or likely last time – that regardless of whether he breaks Haru's curse, he still has no chance of winning her hand. He opts for a safer topic. "Can I help you?"

"Why would yer want to?"

Baron blinks. "Because that's what I do."

Muta snorts. "No, yer don't."

"I really do."

"Let me tell you a secret I've learned from all these years bodyguarding: nobody helps for nothing. People are kind for money, or power, or for a bride that can give them both." Muta looms over Baron. "So which are you?"

"I'll answer after you."

"What does that mean?"

Despite every instinct screaming at him to flee, Baron stands his ground – even if he can feel his knees shake. He offers a smile. "It means that I can only imagine this show of intimidation – which, top notch, is working – is intended to ensure I don't have any ulterior motives concerning Lady Haru. If people are only kind for money or power, then what is the cause behind your apparent care for her? Tell me, power or riches? Surely it cannot be mere altruism."

Muta stares at him for several long moments, in which Baron is sure he's about to be violently introduced to the nearest wall. Then, "I know all about you, Humbert von Gikkingen."

Somehow, the use of his name feels more threatening than anything else Muta could have said. "If you have any questions, you only ever needed to ask."

"I know what you did to get cursed."

Baron's smile doesn't falter, but it does harden, just a touch at the edges. "Then maybe you'll understand why I have devoted my life since to helping others."

"Because yer scared you'll get cursed again. Yer know there comes a cost with refusing help, so yer make sure yer can never be accused of standing by idly again." The guard tilts his head. "Or maybe yer hoping that enough good deeds will break the curse. But once a curse misses its deadline, it's stuck for good."

"I have no delusions of breaking my own curse. I know my fate."

"Then maybe yer looking for a different kind of prize." Muta smiles, but there is nothing friendly in it. "After all, Lady Haru comes from a rich family. Plenty of money to be made in breaking her curse, but why settle for a hero's bounty when you can marry into a lord's lot instead?"

"I have no interest in riches–"

Muta looms over Baron. "Break her curse, and her father'll marry her off to the highest bidder. Fail, and she'll still be bound to the guy at the other end of the string. Whichever way you cut it, she's outta your reach. Remember that. And if you try to mess with Haru anyway, I'll make sure there'll be so little left of you, the only fish you'll be fit for will be the bottom feeders. So leave, Baron. There ain't anything for you here."

[majicmarker]

without deep-diving into all the Things bc frankly i don’t think it matters and i’m on the verge of an emotional breakdown as it is… little bit increasingly overwhelmed by moolah happenings rn, so. offering free digital copies of my romcom books (full descriptions under the cut) to anyone who can donate smthn, just shoot me a DM!

(i am very aware that there are lots of other happenings around the world at present more deserving of donations. i’m just kinda outta carrots here, and here we are.)

ᴡʜᴀᴛ’ꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴠɪʙᴇ? : an adult store comedy/romance

What’s love at first sight without a little crisis of sexual identity?

Milo Lamoree is livin’ the glamorous life of a sex shop sales rep, forever explaining to grown adults what they should and should not be sticking inside of themselves and/or others. He’s not doing any sticking himself—his demisexuality hasn’t exactly enticed any “hot young singles in your area.” But considering his clientele’s whackadoo misconceptions about anatomy, etc., it’s not like Milo has the leftover energy to fall in love, anyway.

…Well, too bad.

Stevie Hart has heard it said that being bisexual means you have more options, meanwhile she has experienced that not at all. Her love life is all unsolicited—ahem—pics (you know the ones) and straight couples looking for an experimental third. No thanks. When you’re already managing your own debilitating agoraphobia, who has time to deal with whatever’s going on with those people? Falling in love isn’t worth the mess.

…Until it is.

Along with their meddling mutual friends, Possibly The Worst Ex In The World, and a totally bangin’ soundtrack, Stevie and Milo hit every major identity crisis (sexual, spiritual, existential, you get it) on their way to finding each other—and themselves.

(And if they happen to also find the best title of an adult film while they’re at it? That’s just the rainbow sprinkles on top.)

𝙄𝙣𝙨𝙥𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧’𝙨 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙩 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙙𝙪𝙡𝙩 𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙦𝙪𝙚, 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙡𝙞𝙘𝙚-𝙤𝙛-𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙘 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙙𝙮 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙡𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙩 𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙜𝙚, 𝙛𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙪𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙚𝙭 𝙩𝙤𝙮 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚/𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙞𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙖𝙧 𝙩𝙤𝙥𝙞𝙘𝙨, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙯𝙚𝙙 𝙘𝙪𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨—𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙘𝙖𝙣’𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙛𝙛 𝙪𝙥.

ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴇᴇɴ ꜱᴇx ᴄᴏᴍᴇᴅʏ : a millennial coming-of-age parody (lite)

Once upon the early 2000s…

Trixie Taylor is asexual—she just doesn’t know that’s an option. So imagine her consternation, when the deadline for the virginity pact she made in eighth grade is now upon her. It’s her last high school party, and the entire graduating class has heard that Trixie’s ready to swipe her V-card tonight.

So. No time to panic.

Ready or not, she’s got someone in mind to help her…

Riot Shane is every bit the loser virgin his friends roast him for being, and way more than his rebel reputation suggests (things would be different if he’d get his GED and a haircut, but oh well). When incurable crush Trixie Taylor asks for his help, Riot finds himself playing fake boyfriend, real bodyguard, and the house party’s errand boy. 

Welp. At least responsibility’s never looked as good as it does with his dream girl in the passenger seat.

Ready or not, the night’s only just begun…

[spicychickenyang]

The Emperor and the BNF

Hi everyone. I came across this short story a while ago and was so amused I knew I had to translate it into English to share with more folks. It's not MDZS, but I think those of you who are danmei fans will get a kick out of it nonetheless 😄

《皇帝与同人圈大手》 作者：吕天逸 The Emperor and the BNF Author: Lü Tiansu

Rating: M (sexual content, non-explicit)

Once upon a time, there was a scholar who flunked his exams.

The scholar came from a poor family, plus he was a scrawny weakling, with no skills beyond reading and writing.

In order to make a living, the scholar set up a small booth where he scribed letters, sold calligraphy and art, and helped copy books.

One day, a young woman arrived stealthily at the scholar's booth. Based on her clothing, she seemed like a lady from a wealthy family; based on her expression, she seemed to have snuck out from her home.

The young woman pulled a book from her bosom, and held it out to the scholar. "Make an identical copy for me. I'll pick up seven days from now."

Having said that, she tossed a piece of silver at the scholar.

The scholar took the book, and flushed red. "And the cover?"

The young woman: "Draw it too; exactly the same."

The scholar: "..."

The cover blatantly depicted two nude men in a tender embrace.

The scholar, at a loss: "This... this is pornography?"

The young woman's eyes flashed with a piercing light, and instinctively she put on a sales pitch: "No way, this is an illustrated fic for the sitting Emperor and the High General of Zhennan. It's a super hot ship, and this is an entry piece; it's super rare. I missed the preorder, and it sold out before I could get my hands on one, so I had to borrow one from my girlfriends to make a copy for my own collection."

Tremulously, the scholar flipped open a page, and—

The Emperor: "Does Our Royal Pillar please you?"

The General moaned, "P-please..."

The scholar snapped the book shut as if he'd seen a ghost. "This, this is sacrilegious! We'll lose our heads!"

The young woman waved her hand. "Aiya, what's so sacrilegious about it. His Majesty is clearly the gong, he's on top."

Scholar: "..."

Young woman: "There's also the Emperor/his right-hand attendant, the Emperor/the Royal Architect, the Emperor/the Chancellor, Emperor/the imperial exam valedictorian, tons of ships out there, but His Majesty is always the gong, may he live forever. There's no problem."

Scholar: "..."

The current emperor had taken the throne at age sixteen. Young and handsome, he's well-loved amidst the common folk.

Young woman: "Aiya, I'm done talking to you; I've been out for too long. Take care copying the book; be careful not to get it dirty, each book costs two ounces silver!"

The scholar's hand quivered.

Two ounces of silver for a single book!

Holding back a headache, the scholar read through the book cover to cover.

Apart from the Emperor and the General's names, the entire work was smut, up to 95% smut content.

Scholar: "..."

I can write this crap too!

Yours truly's prose is even better than theirs!

Thinking again of two ounces of silver per book, the scholar's mindset cleared up.

With a clench of his teeth and a cross of his heart, the scholar stepped onto the path of sin.

He wrote up a little novella of his own.

The scholar is an academic, with more rigorous standards for himself. He felt it wasn't sufficiently literary to write pure smut, so he added some soap opera dramatics as well.

In the story, the scholar wrote that the High General of Zhennan went down south, bearing imperial orders to put down a rebellion. In the chaos of battle he was heavily injured, lost his memory, and was staying at a civilian household while his wounds healed. The emperor, having waited long for the general's return, personally set out to find him, but the general no longer recognized him. The emperor brought the general back to the palace and, in order to help the general recover his memory, would ensure daily that the general was helpless to leave his bed. The writing was refined and intricate, savory enough to cause nosebleeds.

Seven days later, the young woman came to pick up her order.

The scholar delivered his goods, then took out the book he wrote and passed it over, clasping his hands to bow towards the Emperor's palace and at the same time saying, "In the past few days, this one made an attempt at writing a story about His Majesty and the High General of Zhennan, if it would trouble Mademoiselle to give an evaluation."

The young woman accepted the scholar's novella.

A stick of incense's time later, the young woman was a puddle of tears in front of the scholar's booth.

The young woman, through snot and tears: "Hiding blades within the smut, it's too cruel!"

The scholar was frozen, scared out of his wits.

The young woman dried her tears, calmed her expression, and gazed at the scholar with a face full of adoration. "So you are actually a grandmaster of angst."

The scholar was befuddled. "Angst? Grandmaster?"

The young woman: "Aiya, it's all just terminology, you'll understand later. How much for this fic of yours?"

The scholar was slightly confounded. "If... This one only has the one draft; it's gone if I sell it. If Mademoiselle desires it, please allow this one to make a duplicate copy."

The young woman flicked her hand. "Aiya, how long is it going to take you to copy it on your own. I'll help you contact a copy factory and make like eight or ten hundred copies. Grandmaster, you write so well, it'll definitely make a killing! If you don't have enough money I'll make up the starting cost for you!"

Overjoyed, the scholar clasped his hands in thanks. "I shall remember this favor and generosity to the end of my days. May I ask how to address my benefactor?"

Young woman: "My family name's Gong; why don't you call me Gong Zuoshi."

Following the address Gong Zuoshi provided, the scholar found his way to the copy factory.

In that day and age, there was no printing press, so everything had to be copied by hand. A mid-tier copy factory has at least a few hundred scribes, each with god-tier speed and skill at the brush, and can even imitate many different script types. But they don't accept small batch orders; minimum is five hundred prints to start.

The scholar passed the book and the silver voucher Gong Zuoshi lent him to the copy factory's foreman.

The foreman was suspicious. "Who referred you?"

Scholar: "Mademoiselle Gong Zuoshi."

The foreman breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. These days the imperial guards are cracking down; for sacreligious smut books we only accept orders from known customers."

The scholar wiped away his sweat. "Understood, understood."

Foreman: "How many copies do you want?"

Scholar: "One thousand."

Foreman: "What fonts?"

Scholar: "Two hundred sans-serif gothic, two hundred brush script, two hundred comic font, two hundred bubble letters, two hundred curly cues. We'll do a variety of fonts so that the customers have more options. Thanks a lot."

Foreman: "What about targeted marketing and publicity? Will you be using our services?"

Scholar: "Mademoiselle Gong will help with all these; no need for you to trouble yourself."

Foreman: "What's your pen name?"

The scholar pondered for a moment.

For some reason, the first thing to flash across his mind was that mountain thirty leagues outside of town. When he was young and stupid, one time he drove a government official's horse carriage up the mountain, and became the joke of the town...

The scholar smiled lightly. "Just call me Mt. Qiuming's Driving God."

Foreman: "All righty."

One month later, one thousand books of sacrilegious smut rolled hot off the presses.

With its juicy drama, detailed love scenes, and a solid literary foundation, the scholar's zine sold like hotcakes. A thousand copies were snatched up in just a few days.

Nearly all of the Emperor/General fandom's fujoshi came to know of the grandmaster by the name of Mt. Qiuming's Driving God.

At two ounces of silver a book, minus the production costs, the scholar was loaded to his gills.

It was the first time he'd ever seen this much silver in his life.

And it wasn't even someone else's.

Holding the silver voucher, the scholar's hands trembled, tears gathering in his eyes.

Gong Zuoshi, having snuck out from her home again: "Aiya, what are you even doing with yourself. First print an additional three hundred copies for mail order, then hurry and write a new one while the iron's hot."

The scholar listened obediently. "Okay."

Gong Zuoshi: "This time we can commission some top-tier artists in the fandom to make a few illustrations, then add some merch on the side; it'll definitely be even more fire."

Blinded by greed, the scholar clasped his hands and bowed in the direction of the palace. "Very well, this time this one will write a few extra smut scenes for His Majesty."

Gong Zuoshi clapped her hands. "Yes yes, add a few rounds of kink-play."

The scholar bowed towards the palace and at the same time groveled, "All right, then this one will write a bondage scene for His Majesty and the High General of Zhennan."

Gong Zuoshi: "You can use white silk to do the tying."

Scholar: "Got it, in this book the general has a fiery and stubborn temper, and refuses to submit, so he tries to hang himself with white silk..."

The scholar paused, and made another bow toward the palace with hands clasped, then respectfully continued, "His Majesty arrives just in time to cut him down and save him."

Gong Zuoshi's eyes shone with giddiness. "Yes yes yes! And then a scene of unspeakable things!"

The scholar was flushed with excitement. "Okay okay, just like that!"

—The writer and co-conspirator unearthed their brain worms together.

Very soon, the scholar's second book was out of the oven.

Since this time there was no lack of funds, the copies were beautifully designed and bound with gold thread, with an add-on bonus of a potpourri pouch embroidered with the High General of Zhennan's nickname. Those who preorder one hour ahead of time can even receive an extra gift - a folding fan with a romantic verse scribed by the scholar himself.

This time the scholar's zine sold wildly, over four thousand copies. Within the fandom, the hungry readers waiting to be fed swarmed at the news - "Mt. Qiuming's Driving God has brought the smut train around! Everyone, get on board!"

This time, the scholar happened to publish his zine just in time for the doujin convention in town. Respected creators of various fandoms flocked to attend, each at their own booth, selling their zines and wares. Young ladies and housewives, baskets in hand, scooped up their favorite publications. Certain ladies of big-name households were even wearing veils over their faces, trailed by their own escort of guards, shopping from the east end of the convention to the west end - such a display of wealth!

Of course, the scholar who recently exploded in popularity became the focal point of the convention. The scholar's stand was one of the most mobbed, encircled in layers upon layers of fangirls.

"Train conductor, take me with you!"

"Grandmaster, I love you!"

"Beep—Swordswoman Card."

"Beep—Esteemed Lady Card."

"Beep—Nunnery Card."

"Beep—Grand Princess Card."

The scholar, who was busy signing autographs with a brush in hand: "..."

Hold on, was something not right about that last one!?

The scholar raised his head, and got an eyeful of a troop of fully-armed imperial guards.

The imperial guards were tightly clustered around a young woman.

The young woman looked around sixteen or seventeen years of age, beautiful and stately as a goddess descended from the heavens, bedecked in finery and jewels.

This was the sitting emperor's younger sister, the Grand Princess Difu.

Scared out of his wits, the scholar hurriedly prostrated into a kowtow. "This humble peasant greets Her Royal Highness."

The Grand Princess was not stuck up at all. Kindly she spoke, "Grandmaster, please rise."

Trembling, the scholar lifted himself, thinking he was about to be taken away to "have tea": "..."

The Grand Princess swept a glance over the scholar's stand, as if too lazy to look closely, and asked, "Whose fic are you writing?"

The scholar swallowed nervously, and tried to avoid the whole truth: "This peasant wrote about... the High General of Zhennan..."

The Grand Princess's eyes lit up slightly. "What'd you write about him?"

The scholar nearly fainted dead away. "This peasant wrote about... the High General's bravery on the battlefield, and his glorious appearance riding upon a galloping horse."

It was actually his glorious appearance lying on the bed, being ridden by the emperor!

But he can't say that!

Princess: "Is the general in a ship?"

The scholar's head shook like a rattle-drum. "No!"

The Grand Princess smirked. "Very well, then I will take a copy. Please pack up all the included merch."

The head of the imperial guard tossed two ounces of silver at the scholar. With a head full of cold sweat, the scholar wrapped up the book and merchandise.

A potpourri pouch, plus a folding fan hand-signed by the scholar.

Even though it's been two hours past the preorder period, and therefore should not include a bonus folding fan, but...

Not giving the Grand Princess a full set of merch - does he want to lose his head right there and then?!

Satisfied, the Grand Princess turned to other booths to collect more books.

Carrying bundles of books large and small, the imperial guards followed behind.

As soon as the Grand Princess left, the scholar closed up his stand and fled, discarding even the unsold books. He's already sold over four thousand copies anyway, there's not much left over.

Not only sacrilege, but deceiving the Grand Princess on top of that.

Returning home, the scholar scurried to gather his valuables, and at the same time imagined the scene after the Grand Princess returned to the palace—

Grand Princess: "O dear Royal Brother, someone wrote a fic about you and the High General of Zhennan, and they drove a smut train too."

Emperor: "..."

Grand Princess: "Hey Royal Brother, this person wrote that your Royal Pillar is a foot long, and normally wound around your waist..."

Emperor: "Someone, arrest this vile scoundrel, and off with his head!"

The scholar shook in a cold shudder, his own imagings nearly scaring the piss out of himself.

Having packed his things, the scholar wrote a small note, explaining the events today of how he met the Grand Princess at the convention and must flee for his life.

The scholar went to the Gong residence and passed the note to the servants, instructing them to make sure it landed in the hands of Mademoiselle Gong.

After sending his message, the scholar fled.

He fled all the way to Dali, which was renowned as "Shangri-la" for its scenery, as well as being very far from the Capitol city.

These days, all kinds of eloping princesses/princes/young masters and mademoiselles all loved to head to Dali.

It was a top destination for eloping.

Little did the scholar know, the day after his departure, the capitol city was completely locked down. The Anti-Obscenity Division of the imperial guard swarmed over all the notable publishing copy factories in search of the fugitive with the pen name "Mt. Qiuming's Driving God", but they returned empty-handed.

Having dodged this bullet, the scholar settled down in Dali.

After this scare, the scholar no longer dared to write fanfics anymore. But that was fine anyway, because he'd already earned plenty of silver from selling zines, and no longer needed to worry about how to make a living.

Now with money and time on his side, the scholar began remembering his old dream - to properly study, become valedictorian, and earn a high-ranking government position.

As mentioned before, Dali was a place that many people eloped to.

Including the previous imperial exam's valedictorian.

This valedictorian had a brilliant education, a solid family background, an elegant handsome face, and was the dream catch of thousands of young women. Supposedly, he shouldn't have had to do something like elope.

The problem was, the one who caught his eye was the Minister of Finance's son...

That's why he had to elope.

So the scholar requested the tutelage of the valedictorian.

From then on the scholar hit the books and burned the midnight oil every day, from "CliffsNotes" to "Princeton Review", from "The Annotated Classics" to "The Road to Valedictorian". It was long and arduous.

At last, two years passed.

Heaven rewards the diligent. In the new round of local exams, the scholar qualified to return to the Capitol for next spring's round of exams. In the series of qualifying exams he barged through all obstacles, achieved top ranking, and won eligibility to participate in the imperial exam.

The scholar was very excited.

The emperor was also very excited.

The day of the imperial exam.

Dozens of applicants were arranged in rows in the grand hall, each seated and writing at their own desk.

After the noon hour, the emperor personally attended the testing hall to survey the exam.

Having gone through two years of baptism by literary fire, the scholar had a speedy hand and a quick wit at his disposal. He was already pretty much finished, and was currently kneeling with his head bowed, resting his eyes.

Just then, the emperor walked up before the scholar, and paused, seemingly looking over the scholar's paper.

The scholar's heart thumped wildly.

After looking for a while, the emperor said, "Raise your head."

Unsure what was going on, the scholar very carefully, very slightly lifted his head.

Just then, a folding fan lightly landed upon the scholar's chin, and with an upward flick, the scholar was forced to raise his face and meet the emperor's gaze.

The emperor was indeed as handsome as the common rumors told, with blade-tipped brows and star-lit eyes, his face like crown jade.

The scholar was not bad looking either, with slightly wing-tipped almond eyes, flushed lips and bright teeth, and a thin waist.

The two stared at each other. For a moment, time seemed to stall, the great hall seemingly about to ring out with BGM at any minute.

The emperor gradually leaned down.

The scholar's palms were filled with nervous sweat.

The emperor's lips nearly brushed the scholar's ear, his voice ringing out low by the scholar's ear: "Beep—Emperor Card."

Scholar: "..."

Scholar: "..."

Scholar: "..."

I must've been hallucinating from nervousness.

The emperor straightened up, and opened the folding fan in his hand with a swish.

It was the merchandise the scholar had gifted the Crown Princess Difu two years ago, hand-scribed with the romantic verse written by the scholar himself. The handwriting was identical with the essay currently spread on the desk before the scholar.

The emperor's lip quirked ever so slightly.

A darkness fell over the scholar's eyes.

The scholar's lithe body swayed, and toppled over with a plonk.

The scholar woke to find himself lying upon the Royal Bed.

The reason he knew it was a Royal Bed as soon as he opened his eyes, was because the Royal Body was lying upon it—that is, by the scholar's side.

The emperor gazed steadily at the scholar.

The emperor's eyes were bottomless wells of black.

The scholar cleared his throat, shakily lifted the blankets, and knelt on the Royal Bed for three heavy kowtows, stuttering, "Greet, greet, greetings to Your Majesty!"

Each kowtow was accompanied by a stutter, very rhythmically.

The emperor wore an expression that may or may not be a smile. "Grandmaster, please rise."

The scholar nearly fainted again.

The emperor reached beneath the Royal Pillow and pulled out a booklet bound in gold thread, and asked leisurely word by word, "Mt. Qiuming's Driving God?"

The scholar wailed, "This peasant deserves a thousand deaths!"

Emperor: "Our Royal Pillar is a foot long, and usually wound around our waist?"

The scholar's tears twirled endlessly within his eye sockets. "It was all nonsense written by this peasant..."

The scholar's teary-eyed appearance was unexpectedly appealing. The emperor gave him an extra glance, quirked an eyebrow, and snatched the scholar's right hand.

The scholar's vision went black. "..."

I'm finished, His Majesty must be about to chop off my writing hand!

Then the next second, his hand, guided by the emperor, was pressed upon the Royal Pillar.

Scholar: "..."

Emperor: "Get a good feel."

His face beet red, the scholar took a tentative grope.

Emperor: "How long?"

Scholar, trembling: "Three inches."

Scholar: "No wait, it got a bit longer, four inches."

Scholar: "A, a bit more longer, five inches."

Scholar: "...It stopped. Five and a half inches."

Emperor: "From now on write five and a half inches. Strive for realism, understand?"

The scholar's head bobbed like a pecking chicken. "Understood."

Scholar: "May this peasant... be dismissed?"

Emperor: "We say you may."

The scholar breathed a sigh of relief, feeling like he gained back a life.

But then the emperor pointed at his five and a half inches, and said, "It says you may not."

Scholar: "..."

With a flip, the emperor pressed the scholar beneath his body.

And so, this life that the scholar just got back was nearly lost again on the Royal Bed.

After a ride on the Royal Train with the emperor, the scholar's world view was completely destroyed.

It's not that he was entirely unwilling.

After having written two whole books of m/m smut, the scholar had succeeded in un-straight-ing himself as well. Besides, the emperor was handsome and a skillful flirt, not even to mention his position of wealth. Being laid once by the emperor is not a bad deal, theoretically speaking.

But in the end the scholar was an academic, and felt this was too contrary to custom. His heart full of shame, he felt he had no dignity left to face his ancestors.

So, sobbing and blubbering, the scholar yanked three feet of white silk, and went to hang himself.

Halfway through his hanging, the emperor (who had been on the side watching the theatrics) casually strolled up, and cut down the scholar just like how it was written in the novel.

And then conveniently used those three feet of white silk to engage in a bit of bondage play.

The scholar, tied up like that in white silk: "..."

Not good, not good! This scene is a bit familiar!

Another hour passed.

The scholar sprawled limply across the Royal Bed like a broken puppet.

The emperor caught his breath, then stated, "Again."

The scholar was scared white, and rushed to guard his ass. "No, no, this peasant cannot withstand any more."

This train has been driven nearly to pieces by the emperor!

The Emperor sighed with heavy regret. "Then come back tomorrow."

Scholar: "If this peasant may dare ask..."

Emperor: "Mm?"

Scholar: "Why is Your Majesty so, so..."

Thirsty.

The emperor's eyes narrowed slightly. "You still have the nerve to ask?"

Scholar: "What?"

Emperor: "In your little book you wrote that Our Royal Pillar is a foot long, normally wrapped around the waist, causing the High General of Zhennan - who did not grimace even when cut open to the bone during surgery - to cry to the heavens, unable to leave his bed for half a month. And then your book became a bestseller, in addition to pirated copies circulating amidst the masses. In total some tens of thousands of copies have been spread far and wide."

The scholar's business mind took over, and silently calculated how much silver those ungrateful pirates stole from what should be rightfully his. His chest clenched painfully, more painful than even his ass.

If those tens of thousands of books had been sold rightfully, he could've even put himself on last year's List of Wealthiest Scholars if he wanted to!

The Emperor, gritting his teeth: "In all the cut-sleeve circles in the Capitol, no one dared to consort with Us, thus cursing Us to long lonely nights with only Our left and right hands for company."

The scholar's scalp burst with a layer of cold sweat, feeling as if he were finished.

Emperor: "We certainly cannot announce to the masses that We are actually a standard five and a half inches."

The scholar flashed upon the image of the emperor making this announcement to the masses. The corner of his mouth spasmed, nearly laughing aloud.

Emperor: "..."

The scholar hurriedly restored his face to an expression full of deep pain.

The emperor grasped the scholar's chin and turned him toward himself. "The Grand Princess said you were pretty good looking, so We wanted to see for Ourselves whether that was true."

Emperor: "If you were truly attractive, then We would have you, to vent Our heart's lust."

The scholar felt a retroactive fear. "And if it had been false?"

Emperor: "Then you'd be dragged out for fifty paddles, to vent Our heart's hatred."

Scholar: "..."

Either way his ass would be wrecked all the same.

Emperor: "From today on, you belong to Us. Stay with Us wholeheartedly, and We will ensure you win valedictorian."

In the imperial exam rankings, the emperor's opinion was very important.

The scholar felt a bit unfair. "In truth, this peasant had spent many years of hard work studying, with the guidance of a renowned instructor, and performed pretty well during this imperial exam; I had a pretty good shot to begin with..."

The emperor nodded. "Indeed, your answer was not bad. It was to Our liking."

The scholar's eyes lit up.

The emperor smiled with malice. "But if We do not allow you to win, then you can not win."

The scholar, tragically struck by a hidden rule: "..."

Emperor: "How about it?"

The scholar bowed his head and pondered, his hesitant expression gradually growing firm. After a moment, he jumped to his feet bare-assed, and stated, "This peasant fears he may not be able to obey."

The emperor furrowed his brow. "How so?"

Bare-assed, the scholar's face was resolute. "This peasant just remembered, Your Majesty had long ago wed the Chancellor's daughter as queen, and later also took the daughter of the High General of Weiwu as consort..."

The emperor's eyebrow quirked slightly.

Bare-assed, the scholar flicked a nonexistent sleeve, and cited with his head high, "If this peasant submits himself to Your Majesty in this situation, not only is it unfitting for custom, but it would be unfitting for morality."

His words concluded, the scholar climbed off the bed bare-assed, and searched for his clothes all over the floor.

The Emperor chuckled lightly. "You mean the Queen and Consort Jing?"

Continuing to bare-assedly look for his clothes, the scholar grumbled, "Correct."

The emperor bore a half-smile on his face. "Accompany Us to the rear palace, and you will understand."

The scholar declared, "This peasant has already made up his mind; I'm not going."

And so, the scrawny weakling scholar was hauled off by royal guards on his left and right to the rear palace.

The Emperor waved his hand, and the royal guards withdrew.

The Emperor led a mopey scholar in a few circles around the rear garden.

Turning a corner in a twisty corridor, the scholar caught the sight of two women pressed together.

The beautiful, haughty queen had the doe-like Consort Jing thrust against the wall.

Scholar: "..."

This must be the Queen having a jealous bout with Consort Jing!

The Emperor gave a light cough.

But neither the Queen nor Consort Jing seemed to hear, not even glancing in their direction.

The Queen tipped up Consort Jing's chin. "Little one, did We not feed you enough last night?"

Cheeks flushed red, Consort Jing shyly turned her head away.

Emperor: "..."

Scholar: "..."

And then, the Queen and Consort Jing resumed their PDA like no one was around, then went off hand-in-hand to fly kites.

Emperor: "Understand?"

Scholar: "...A little, perhaps."

Emperor: "The Queen and Consort Jing have felt this way for each other for a long time. The night before Our wedding, the Queen had originally planned to elope with Consort Jing to Dali."

Scholar: "..."

Dali again; why do you people have it out for Dali?

Emperor: "But the road is long and treacherous, and who knows how much hardship and danger two lone women would meet along the way. Furthermore, Consort Jing's constitution is frail from birth and may not withstand such turmoil, plus the Chancellor and the High General of Weiwu would be after them."

Emperor: "So We told the Queen that We were cut-sleeve, and they needed not escape. After a false wedding to Us, they could remain together long-term in the palace, and We would no longer be continuously urged to marry by the court. Everyone wins."

At the mention of being urged to marry, the emperor looked ready to cry tears of blood.

When members of the court bring up the topic of marriage, they will all do so in the format of a submitted petition, each petition bloated with tens of thousands of words, rambling from the ancestral customs to the kingdom's welfare, and then they'll kick up the dramatics to the point of threatening suicide, their power levels hundreds of times greater than a houseful of aunties gathered for the New Year.

Since it's been established from antiquity that the monarch cannot execute loyal advisors, the emperor is obliged to listen. He can only dream about dragging those old bones out the gate to be chopped a hundred times over.

The scholar came to a realization. "So then the reason Your Majesty has not sired children..."

The Emperor nodded. "We have never touched so much as a finger of theirs, and never will."

Emperor: "We prefer to touch you."

The scholar blushed red. "But if Your Majesty does not have heirs, you will still be urged by the court to do so all the same."

Emperor: "If We do not bear progeny, what of it?"

Scholar: "..."

In a flash the Emperor's countenance changed, his eyes glaring with authority. "All of you are so capable; come come come, you do the birthing, you come birth for Us."

The emperor's expression grew soft once more. "And then they dared not speak again."

Scholar: "Pfft."

A breeze swept past a flowering tree, as if tinted with a streak of soft light, and then right away, the fragrance-filled wind stole away between the two of them.

The two's eyes met for a long moment.

Using the folding fan signed by the scholar, the emperor gently lifted the scholar's chin, and asked softly, "So, are you willing or not?"

The scholar won valedictorian.

Having fulfilled the dream of both the scholar and eighteen generations of the scholar's ancestors, one could say he has honored his ancestors plenty.

From then on, the scholar began a life of attending court during the day, and being courted at night.

The emperor had a mischievous sense of humor. He ordered the scholar to revive the pen name Mt. Qiuming's Driving God, and return to his old work of writing fics.

But, this time the scholar only wrote for the ship of Emperor/newly ranked valedictorian, and none of it smutty; it was all fluff fic focused solely on romance.

The Emperor had a small shelf in his royal library, filled with the novellas written by the scholar.

Different subjects, different scenarios, but the main characters are always the Emperor and the scholar.

Emperor: "When We read these books of yours, it feels as if We had already spent many lifetimes with you."

The emperor was happy, but the Capital's fujoshi circle was full of wails and tears.

It's a disaster! The grandmaster has committed fandom adultery!

Changing ships was forgivable, but he didn't even write smut anymore. It was all fluff fic as pure as water.

The readers were all commenting they were going to die from blandness!

What they didn't know was, the grandmaster Mt. Qiuming's Driving God was still driving the smut train in private on the daily.

It's just that this train carried only the Emperor alone.

Whatever the Emperor wanted to read, the scholar wrote for His Majesty. And after the Emperor's done reading it, he'd put it into practice at night.

"Beep—Emperor Card."

[End]

Epilogue (F/M)

The Emperor arranged a marriage between the High General of Zhennan and the Grand Princess Difu.

He was as handsome as she was lovely, a well-matched couple.

But the Grand Princess was unwilling.

The emperor was puzzled. "The High General of Zhennan had already proved his worth on the battlefield at a young age. He's handsome and well-off, with land and status. Why, Dear Sister, are you unwilling?"

Princess: "I just feel like the High General of Zhennan trips my gaydar hard."

The High General of Zhennan was shocked. "Your Majesty! Your humble servant has been wronged!"

Emperor: "What gives you this impression, Dear Sister?"

Princess: "Maybe from a book I read."

Emperor: "...Could it be that one your brother-in-law wrote?"

The Grand Princess nodded.

Originally the Grand Princess had been fond of the handsome and mighty general...

But a shadow fell over her heart because of a zine!

The High General of Zhennan was as wronged as a blizzard in June. "Your humble servant is straight as a yardstick; I beg the Princess to verify!"

The Emperor waved his hand. "Your brother-in-law was writing nonsense. I've already disciplined him; no need to mention it further."

Later on, the High General of Zhennan spent a Herculean effort to pursue the Grand Princess. The Grand Princess finally agreed.

The two of them began a happy life together.

Aside from the Prince Consort always wanting to strangle his brother-in-law... everything was perfect.

End

[dominimoonbeam]

Bite to Bruise - 32

This work is mine and I do not give consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted without my permission. I am sharing chapters as I work on this story but it is copyrighted material that I plan to rework and publish when completed.

story tags: modern-fantasy mashup, werewolves, witches, monsters, romance, learning to trust, hurt/comfort, blood, violence, explicit sex, explicit language

The earlier parts can be found under the tag or over on patreon. <3

BITE TO BRUISE - CHAPTER 32.

Baron stood in the greenhouse, his phone back in his pocket and his thoughts far away, in another time and place.

Eviscerated.

That was the only word for what Wilhelm had done to those shades. Fourteen shades. Fourteen of Baron’s own blood, a precious three of them made by the teeth of Solse herself. Young enough to still be fragile. Young enough to be killed. Solse had left with the other midnights only scant decades before and there Kish stood in the great dining hall of her home looking at the utter ruin of so many of her blood. It was an insult that brought him to his knees, tears wet on his face and his hands shaking in the puddles of what had been. The song in that blood, in Solse’s blood, had become a withered, dying thing and the idea of that dying anywhere near his maker had him retching.

He had failed so monumentally, the shame and heartbreak choking him until he finally twisted it into rage and swallowed it down.

And Wilhelm…

That witch bastard hadn’t even run.

He’d waited. He’d sat there at the head of the fucking table waiting to see him break, with tears in his own eyes and dried blood all over him.

They had been friends once. They had been family. Wilhelm had belonged to Solse.

They tried to kill each other in that room, in the slick of the dead.

Wilhelm had lasted longer than any mortal Kish had fought before or since, but he had died. He always died…eventually.

“Baron,” a steady voice called to him, retrieving him from the past until he blinked at the bright glass ceiling of the greenhouse beyond the spread hands of lush foliage curling overhead.

“Blackwell sent an envoy to negotiate,” Hymn said when he knew he had his attention.

Baron turned and looked at the other shade, another creation of Solse, but not one of the ones lost to the witch. He reached out and placed a hand against Hymn’s chest, taking a breath and allowing the song of their midnight to soothe him.

Hymn waited, hand over Baron’s. “Did your dogs find her?”

Baron smiled slowly. “She killed them. Isn’t that fucking poetic?”

Hymn waited.

Baron sighed and clawed a hand through his dark hair, suddenly missing when it used to be long and jealous of those dark braids Hymn still had. “An envoy?” he asked, back to business at hand. Blackwell would try to lowball him for her precious box. There was no way she’d hand over her throne. Hopefully she’d go to war with him for it.

The corner of Hymn’s lush mouth turned up in a vicious little smirk.

Baron waited, excited now. Certainly, Blackwell hadn’t come herself to negotiate… She loved sending her minions. She had oh-so many…

“Primrose is in the study.”

Baron almost called him a liar. They hadn’t seen Prim in centuries. There had been rumors about him fading or entombing himself after his midnight left with the others. Baron hadn’t believed any of those rumors, but the once legendary fixer hadn’t been out to play in all those decades either.

Blackwell and Primrose had been monsters once upon a time. Blackwell had grown comfortable and Prim... Had Prim changed too?

Baron left the greenhouse for the large hallways of the house, heading for the study and that powerful absence within that could only be old blood.

Grendel was there beside the door, looking her old self with a cat’s grin and a question in her gleaming eyes. She was asking Baron if it was time yet—if they were going to play war again.

He swept into the room and Primrose took a second not to react, to pretend he was busy perusing books on the shelf before taking notice. His eyebrow lifted and that easy smile shaped his soft features. So delicate. Such a lie. “Kish,” he purred.

“Prim,” Baron replied, gesturing at the otherwise empty room. “No escort? No guards? Should I be insulted?”

“No more than I should be insulted that you think I’d need guards.” Primrose snapped the book he was holding shut. “These are decorative. You can do better.” He tossed the tomb into the fireplace, sending up a plume of embers. “I’ve come to do what I always do.”

Baron tried not to smile, really he did. “Yes, Word, deliver me some terms.” Just like old times.

Primrose stepped closer, head tipping to the side, flaunting a long neck and no fear. His dark eyes gleamed. “We both know I am not a delivery boy, Kish.”

Oh yes. He was just the same as ever. Primrose had come to get that box, one way or another. Baron felt the echo of his old self stirring.

“You don’t want the city. You just want bloodshed,” Prim continued. “I can give you that.”

Baron finally let his smile loose, his gaze sweeping down the other shade and then back up. “Tempting… but I don’t think a sparring match will do.”

“The Court of Solse has no throne, no city, no home. Solse is your home and she is found in your blood. To claim a territory like Blackwell, you would only be sullying that.”

“Do not play to my sentimentality…”

“But you need more bloodshed. You need glory. What is the Court of Solse without a battle? How else will you call her back to you if you cannot stack victories like a pillar for her to see from across the lands?”

Baron’s smile faded. Would she see? Would she know? Was that what he was doing with Blackwell?

“The shades do no war with dogs or birds—not since the treaty and times of peace.”

Baron curled a lip.

“But we can war with one another. I will war with you, Kish. Together we can paint the borders of Blood Country red until all the sleeping midnights dream of us—our blood, their blood, swollen on the wind and sweeping across the world, our song so loud that even if they do not rise, they will grin and think of us.”

Baron shivered. The fucking Word… He hadn’t changed at all. Wherever he had been all these decades, he was exactly the same myth he had always been. Good at seeing and knowing just what to say. Kish could almost taste the iron wetting the air and drawing deep into his lungs. “And why would you do that?”

Primrose’s expression gave nothing away, but Baron thought he was deciding whether or not to lie. “Life is long, and we need things to do. We need to fill the time waiting for their return.”

He almost pointed out that Prim had had no trouble waiting—had quietly withdrawn for centuries until now—but he didn’t need to. Primrose wasn’t talking about himself. Perhaps Florian Blackwell needed a war as much as Baron did…even if she hadn’t realized it yet.

“Give me the box,” Primrose said, and somehow it sounded like he was the one doing Baron a favor, like it was all a burden, but he was willing to help.

-

The city of Blackwell was a disorienting trap, neon lights on the narrow cobblestone paths between dark brick buildings and shard-like skyscrapers. It was a mash-up of old and new, built to cast deep shadows and every window tinted to hold back the day and obscure the other side.

Oscar had read once that there were more shades in Blackwell than all of the rest of Blood Country combined. It wasn’t true, but he could understand how such a rumor came about when he walked those roads, deeper and deeper, toward her building.

It couldn’t be reached by car, not above ground anyway and only Florian Blackwell and her court had access to the tunnels beneath.

The sun was still up but the clouds thick this time of year and the city dusted in snow and ice. Shades watched him as he walked, heads tipping curiously and lips pulling to flash toothy grins.

It wasn’t his first time in Blood Country, or even in Blackwell, but this time he had no business but his own and that made him feel like a naked vein in the city of blood-drinkers.

By the time he reached her estate, there were two shades keeping step behind him.

Oscar did not regard them.

Anyone might have expected the Duchess Florian Blackwell, founder and king of the Court of Fleur, architect and governor of the city of Blackwell, to reside in the spire at the center of her magnificent city, but they would be wrong to do so. Florian Blackwell lived in the old estate at the edge of the city, the one that predated the rest of the structures, the one that had been there when there was nothing but farmlands and villages beyond that edge of the deep wood.

This was the estate of the midnight Odinette, creator of Florian and her bloodline. This was the start of Blood Country as they all knew it now.

The doors opened as he walked up the stone path to the steps.

A shade, little more than a child in body, lounged on the wide stairs, watching him with the same silent curiosity as all the others had. The old child whistled when Oscar passed, something cruel on that sharp sound.

Oscar knew they meant to scare him, and he tried to look appropriately cowed.

But had that old child ever met Baron?

Oscar had.

He stepped into the large foyer where a human greeted him with a practiced smile. They wore a wide choker of pearls. Probably a spoil. Were any humans in Blackwelll not spoils of the overwhelming leech population? “I hope you found your way well,” they said, gaze not straying to any of the shades that had trailed him into the house. With a quick turn, they led him down the hall. “The duchess does not have much time to spare but found your request for an audience curious and has generously offered you three minutes.”

Oscar did not remark on how the duchess had all the time in the world—it was he who had precious little of it.

A chill crawled his spine as he was yet again in his life led down a long hall to a room of shades. This one was not a repurposed greenhouse but a spacious study with walls of books and large windows. A fire crackled in the deep stone maw of a pit set into one wall.

The human did not follow him in.

Florian Blackwell sat behind a dramatically large desk, seemingly engrossed in paperwork, while a man leaned against the front and smiled at Oscar. “Scryer,” he greeted and waved him in.

The door closed behind Oscar and the fireplace made the room hot.

He was starting to suspect that the idea that shades didn’t mind the cold was wrong. He forced himself to take a few more steps in. “I’ve come to make a deal.”

Florian scratched something onto the page in front of her.

The man continued to watch him, the fire gleaming in his dark eyes. “That’s not usually how this works, is it? We put out bounties for objects and you scryers bring them to us. In fact, we put out a bounty recently for a box that you recovered…”

Oscar tried not to stare at the shade but struggled to make a decision about him. He had not met this man before. He had met Florian only a few times, though she was never alone. Like most shades, she enjoyed pageantry. This setting was strangely sober for a meeting with her. “I believe I did, yes.”

The man’s smile never faltered. “But we did not get that box back, did we?”

It hit Oscar what was so strange about the way this particular shade spoke. Florian Blackwell loved an envoy and a valet, but they never used “we,” it was always in her long and illustrious titles, even with her in the room. They spoke of her, not for her. Not like this. There was only one shade in all the world that might speak for Florian Blackwell.

Primrose. The prince and champion of the Court of Fleur, and the legendary Word of Odinette. He had been sent out for his midnight during war to complete impossible tasks, to do what no other could in her name with his words as good as her own. Was that what he did for Florian now?

Oscar met the shade’s gaze. “I have a contract with Baron.”

Florian scratched through the page and curled her lip before tossing the offending pen away.

Primrose showed no signs of noticing, his pleasant smile fixed in place. “Yes. We don’t usually negotiate with Baron’s spoils… You understand our curiosity at receiving your request for an audience.”

Oscar pressed his lips to keep from scowling. He wasn’t a spoil and almost argued that point before feeling the phantom bite of Baron’s teeth in his palm. He closed his fist and pressed it into the side of his slacks. “I came to make a deal with the Court of Fleur.”

Florian’s gaze flicked to him for the first time.

Primrose’s eyebrow rose as though he felt her attention move without needing to look. “Treacherous…” he purred, the word ringing like a compliment.

“I want protection from Baron.”

Florian leaned back in her chair. “Do you have the box?”

“I have something better, something you can use to trade for the box, something Baron wants more than anything else.”

The fire crackled and Oscar felt like the room had warmed by degrees. Florian and Primrose considered him, breathless in the way that only shades could be. Finally, Primrose’s smile dulled and Florian spoke. “The witch?” She sounded as excited as Oscar had hoped but her gaze slipped away, unfocused with thought as she nodded. “Where is he?”

“She,” Oscar corrected automatically. Surely, Florian knew that? Everyone had seen the bounty Baron had on Wren the last two decades. But he clung with all his hope to that nod of Florian’s head, her thick curls bouncing. “She’s living with the wolves on the other side of the wood. She’s been using the name Bellamy and pretending to be a scryer for years. She can portal, so she could leave any minute, but I got the sense she’s made a home for herself there.”

Florian and Primrose stared at him. Their beautiful, undead faces gave nothing away but he felt like he’d stumbled upon something greater than he’d realized.

Florian rose to her feet, her head tipping from one side to the other, like an invisible crown weighed it down. She smiled, that pull of lips almost coy. “Welcome to Blackwell, scryer. We’ll set you up with a suite here for the time being and then see you safely on to a new city when the game is done.”

Oscar fought hard not to sag with relief. A way out. He really had a way out.

The study door opened and the spoil invited him out. He hadn’t seen the two shades press a button or ring a bell to summon the human and they gave no instructions. Was the human just watching and waiting?

Florian and Primrose stared back at him, waiting for him to look away first. Their expressions were coldly pleasant, their patience endless.

Oscar put his gaze to the floor and his chin to his chest. He took a step back and thanked them before turning to leave, hoping to be forgotten until their game was complete.

-

Primrose watched the human go, listening to his steps as he was led farther and farther away.

“So, that’s what happened to Soren…” Florian said when the human was well out of earshot.

Primrose turned to look back at her. She was pleased. He wasn’t so sure she should be. “Witches are dangerous, Flori,” he whispered. Odinette had never played with witches and warned them all not to cross one. They were mortals, yes, but not human—not to be wronged.

“I need that forest.”

Primrose nodded.

Florian tapped her nails on the desk. She was beyond caution and patience. “Ever must be partial to her to let her hide in his territory… She must be how he got to Kai and claimed the territory in Ceres so quickly. He’s loyal. If we take her, he may trade his claim on the wood for her.”

Primrose could see that. Unless they’d greatly misread his character, it could work. Kish would come for the witch when he found out, whether they still had her or they’d returned her to the wolves in exchange for the woods. He wouldn’t be able to control himself. It couldn’t even be called a weakness—that violent obsession with the witch. They would need to be quick, if they wanted to trade her, get her off their hands before Kish kicked in the door and started that promised war right there on their doorstep.

Florian opened a drawer in the heavy desk and gingerly took out the box. She’d been holding it ever since he brought it home to her earlier that day. She had only opened it once, to drag in that blood scent before closing it and clutching it. He tried not to think about how it looked like a mourner cradling an urn.

He slid his hand back on the table, the gesture so casual and seemingly meaningless, but she grabbed his wrist, squeezing gently to soothe him.

Florian looked at him. Her smile was an echo of Odinette’s and he loved it. Primrose bit back his own smile, sensing her will. “So be it, Florian. Let's go to the woods.”

[booksnstuff58]

Book Review: Thriller

It's been a bit since I've posted anything, but while I was away I got in a good bit of reading. My sister got me into thrillers, and that's about all I've been reading.

So today I have a review of the thriller that put me in a thriller kinda mood. Aaand Michael Jackson's Thriller is stuck in my head now.

My sister had to make me read this one, which I actually hate that I was being so stubborn. This book is... well, I'll get to that.

Today's book is:

Never Lie by Freida McFadden

So again, my sister kept bugging me until I read this book, and I'm glad she kept harassing me. I've been like constantly reading thrillers since this one and have loved every minute! Well, some books were better than others.

Blurb:

Newlyweds Tricia and Ethan are searching for the house of their dreams. But when they visit the remote manor that once belonged to Dr. Adrienne Hale, a renowned psychiatrist who vanished without a trace four years earlier, a violent winter storm traps them at the estate… with no chance of escape until the blizzard comes to an end. In search of a book to keep her entertained until the snow abates, Tricia happens upon a secret room. One that contains audio transcripts from every single patient Dr. Hale has ever interviewed. As Tricia listens to the cassette tapes, she learns about the terrifying chain of events leading up to Dr. Hale’s mysterious disappearance. Tricia plays the tapes one by one, late into the night. With each one, another shocking piece of the puzzle falls into place, and Dr. Adrienne Hale’s web of lies slowly unravels.

And here are my thoughts:

Um, go buy this book.

I read like a sloth. It takes me forever to get through anything.

I got through this one in a week. A week!

Now, you may be thinking I'm being silly. I mean, it's only a bit over 300 pages. But I'm not kidding. It normally would take me way longer to read a book that length.

Also, the copy I read was my sister's copy. When I finished it I went out and bought my own copy to lend out to friends. It's so good!

I had no idea what was going on. I thought I did, but no. I was completely thrown off and it was amazing!

So yeah, highly recommend this one. Definitely one of the best books I've read recently!

As for triggers, this is, again, a thriller, so I was not at all surprised by the amount of language there was. There was also a fair bit of violence and gross things, which don't bother me in books as much as they do in movies, but I understand not everyone is like that. There was not, however, any graphic sex scenes. There may have been mention, but nothing descriptive. It's been a minute since I read this one, so my memory is not perfect, but my sister would not have told me to read it had there been anything graphic of that nature.

Anyway, this book is fantastic and I fully intend to reread it if I ever get around to rereading anything because of how many books I haven't gotten to yet. I flippin loved it! And this will not be the only time you hear of Frieda McFadden from me. There will be another of her books up here in a few days, so look forward to that!

I have a whole list of books I've read over past few months, so there will be more posts over the next few days, and I have a nice stack of books and a list on my kindle that I will be reading shortly, so I'll be posting more about those shortly!

[fandom-blackhole]

for sleepover ask 💌 :

historical!au + bookstore!au

obi-wan (mullet!wan) is a quiet (but sometimes bitchy) bookstore owner. period piece. could be ye olde bookstore in medieval times, a bookstore next door to a saloon/brothel in the wild west, etc.

Come Celebrate with Me!

6. Bookshop AU 1. Historical AU (Wild West)

Bookshop Owner!Obi Wan x Teacher!Reader

You were still rather new to the small town when you'd entered the small bookstore looking for materials that'd be good for your newly acquired teaching position. Upon entering the store itself gave off a first impression of being heavily disorganized and all over the place, but with closer inspection you'd noticed it was rather neatly organized just in the owner's own self appointed system. 

It was as you trailed your finger along several titles stopping to gently pull out a weathered copy of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, that you'd noticed a brush of movement, silent in every way but to the eye. Just barely seen over the top of a neighboring shelf, you'd spotted a person puzzling over the books in front of them, or at least it seemed that way with what little you could see of flickering eyes that seemed bluer than the sky outside and furrowed brows. You hadn't meant to watch the person, but each time you'd tried to pull your eyes away, back to the shelf in front of you, you'd found them drifting back to glance at those clear blue eyes. After the third time this happened, you felt an embarrassed frustrated flush heat the tips of your ears as you made yet another attempt to page through the copy in your hands, only managing to leaf through a few more pages before finding your eyes trailing upwards once more, only now your eyes met the clear blue as they'd finally noticed your own quiet movement. 

Fully embarrassed now, you watched with a bit of alarm as the person moved in your direction, the clear blue of their eyes now shining with curiosity. In only a few seconds he'd made his way to where you stood clutching Frankenstein to your chest like a lifeline once you got a full view of the man.

Clean. That was your first impression of him. His hair sweated back behind his ears and fell in soft waves to the very top of his shoulders. Shoulders of which you couldn't stop your brain from making an appreciative note were broad with strong looking arms and a full chest connected. He wore just a simple loose cream button down and brown trousers with a set of similarly colored suspenders, of which didn't seem to be doing much as they hung loosely around his waist, and what a waist it was.

Thoughts leading nowhere good, you startled and snapped out of your revelry, dragging your eyes up to meet his again, only pausing once to take in the pin secured to the not of his loose blue neckerchief, small and weathered bronze, obviously old and loved it was circular and printed with what looked like a set of wings with a star connecting both sides in the middle, it was quite beautiful in a plain sort of way. 

Once your eyes met again, you found a soft smile and crinkled eyes to greet you along with a just as softly accented, "Hello there."

Still embarrassed at your gawking, you cleared your throat and answered with your own soft, "Good afternoon."

The man unphased, and seemingly endlessly curious leaned forward, smile somewhat mischievous now, said, "I truly hope its not too forward, but I've never had the grace of seeing you around before, let alone in my shop, may I ask for your name?"

Stuttering out your name, you felt the heat return, but more as a simmering in your chest as you heard the man speak more, his accent a perfect compliment to the rest of his perfectly imperfect-ness. But the man, completely oblivious to your quiet replies, only smiles wider at you and bids you welcome to his shop once more as he introduced himself to you before asking, "And what brings such a fresh face to this part of the world?"

"Oh, I've, uh, I've been hired on to be the town's school teacher. I haven't come with too much and the books at the school building seemed a little worse for wear, so I'd thought I may come refresh the shelves, so to speak."

Brightening even more- you were almost certain he was partially made of pure light at this point, scared if he got any brighter you would no longer be able to look at him, and what a shame that would be- he pointed to the book still clutched in your hands.

"And a wonderful start to your new collection if I might say. A quite many lessons you can squeeze out of my dear friend Ms. Shelley for any age group, I believe," pausing he clasps his hands behind his back, getting a bit of afar off look to his eyes, one that lead you to believe he was deep in thought, before humming and asking, "Do you have any more books in mind you want specifically, because I'd be more than happy to help find anything as well as make any of my own suggestions."

At his offer you felt a bit of relief, and nodded just slightly, "I more so just came in to browse, shocked a store like your own would be in such a small town, but any and all help would be much appreciated Mr. Kenobi."

"Please, no need for formalities, they make me feel stiff and always seem too polite, just Obi Wan is fine. Well as long as you are comfortable with that, my dear." 

With his words, the never ending flush of heat returned once more, as you just nodded a but speechless following the pet names and in his earnest gaze.

After that he led you around the shop offering several more books as he told you a bit about the town and the people, but especially focusing on the children. He'd explained that he'd been holding a story hour for the younger of the town for the last few months and was quite overjoyed that the younglings, as he liked to refer to them as, were finally going to be receiving a proper education.

You truly hadn't meant to spend more than just a few minutes in the bookshop, and possibly only grab two or three books, but you'd noticed that as you'd stepped out of the building after nearly fight with Mr. Ken-, Obi Wan, over whether you were paying for the books or not- he'd eventually won out in just giving you the books, but was unaware of the pennies you'd dropped onto the table quietly by the door as you'd walked out- you'd noticed the midday sun had dipped down as the gold and red hues of sunset started to take over.

As you headed to the small home next to the school house, you felt a nagging sensation at the back of your head, and in turning, you found Obi Wan standing outside his door watching you walk away. Still close enough, you could see his lips turn up once more into a smile as he lifted his hand in a wave, which you returned both, before turning away once more.

The last thing you thought as you'd turned away was how his hair wasn't the sand blonde you'd thought it was in the low light of his shop, but in fact had a coppery hue which formed a glowing hole around him in the dying light of day. 

[nicklloydnow]

“I think that sometimes people have this picture of me as this dark, gritty, dystopian guy. I do actually live in a dystopia - I'm in Northampton, which is a bankrupt and collapsed Middle England town - but humor has always been at the forefront of my work. Even in my grimmest work there's usually a few good jokes.

That story was a bit of a gift. I just started thinking about what the implications of entropy were, that if everything's going to end in a completely disorganised low energy state of freezing blackness and ruin, then that kind of implies that it must have started in a very ordered and complex high energy state. We know it didn't - or at least not the way that I've imagined it - but once I'd got that idea and I'd remembered about Boltzmann brains, I got a pretty good story out of it.

I love science for a lot of very worthy and respectable reasons, but the thing that I really love about science is the ideas. It doesn't really matter whether they're true or not - just as ideas they are often beautiful and useful. It is a fountain of just extraordinary concepts.

(…)

And I'd also had other vague thoughts going through my head. I'd been thinking about superhero costumes and neurological addiction since reading some interesting articles in New Scientist that seemed to suggest that a logo can actually imprint itself upon a child's brain, which I suppose shouldn't be surprising, that's what logos are designed to do!

Most superheroes can be reduced to just a color combination and a chest emblem. I had a strange image that was like something from an old Superboy comic, and I had no idea what it meant. It was an image of a normally dressed person walking in from the left of a kind of an archetypal 1960s comic book panel with a sort of a bland Midwest landscape and, on the other side, a fantastically-costumed superhero, and they're just walking towards each other as if to shake hands. That became the seed for the final scene. It was a really interesting experience writing that story.

(…)

You're retired from comics and you've talked about your bad experiences with the industry before. So why return to the subject now? Is this an exorcism?

That's exactly the word. I've disowned most of my comics work, including stuff like Watchmen, V For Vendetta, all of the ABC stuff, everything that I don't own. The only active thing I could do was disown it, which was painful. I put an enormous amount of work and energy and a great deal of love into all of those projects and it felt like a bit of an amputation to disown them.

At the same time, that was the only way to cut out the poison. I don't have a copy of any of those works. I'll never be looking at them again. And even thinking about them, all I've got is memories of having my intellectual property rights stolen and then when I complained about that, being typified as a crazy angry guy; "Alan Moore says 'get off my lawn.'" And yes, alright, I was quite cross, but I don't think without reason and also to suggest that I'm angry about everything is an evasion. It's a means of going, "Oh well, if he's angry about everything then we don't have to worry about what he says about the way that people are treated in the comics industry, he's just angry about everything."

And once these things have been taken from my hands and made into franchises then they can be given to anybody to do what they want with and that will somehow still be associated with me.

The comics medium is perfect. It is sublime. The comics industry is a dysfunctional hellhole. So why did I want to return to it in this story? Like you say, it's exorcism. As one of the characters finds in 'Thunderman' it's one thing to quit comics, but quitting comics is a different thing to being able to stop thinking about them. Writing this got an awful lot out of my system. It said a lot of the things that I'd always wanted to say but I'd never really had the right context to say them in. But doing them in a Kafka-esque satire, that worked perfectly. And when I say a Kafka-esque satire, what I mean is that Franz Kafka, while he was reading his stories to his followers and appalled friends, he would be laughing almost too hard to get the lines out. It's horrible, hideous, appalling - but the author was probably giggling when he wrote it.

You called comics "sublime" just then and it really does feel like, despite everything, you still have a love for the medium. Is that fair?

Absolutely. I hope that my love of it comes across; my love of Jack Kirby and many of the other artists and a couple of the writers of his generation. The descriptions of a six-year-old kid glimpsing a comic book rack could not have been written without being able to tap into my memories of what that was like, a first exposure to comics.

The medium can do anything. Its potential is still almost completely untapped. So it was attempting to express my love of the medium, some of the wonderful people who worked in it, and to also express my horror at the fact that this this little offshoot, the superhero genre, has become a monoculture that's in danger of taking down at least a considerable part of the comics medium with it when superhero movies finally aren't interesting. When that happens, my worry is that a lot of the comic shops won't be able to continue and a lot of interesting independent comics would perhaps not have outlets.”

[goforth-ladymidnight]

My Thoughts on the Official ACOTAR Coloring Book

The official ACOTAR coloring book was my official introduction the world of ACOTAR back in 2017 (I kept the barcode sticker with the date on it and everything). However, I didn’t officially join the fandom until 2021, around the time ACOSF came out. However however, it wasn’t until recently that I realized that the coloring book was all about Feyre and Rhys. I know it seems obvious, but hear me out.

Book 1 of ACOTAR is, at its core, a retelling of Beauty and the Beast and the Ballad of Tam Lin. It is Feyre and Tamlin’s story, despite what the rest of the series became. However, you wouldn’t know that if you only read the snippets included in the coloring book.

This realization came to me when someone on Reddit requested a spoiler-free color-along guide, complete with chapter numbers. This was so they could read the books, then color along when they came across the matching chapter. Since I was procrastinating had some free time, and I have the trilogy on Kindle (it makes research for fanfiction so much easier), I typed something up for her. But in doing so, I noticed at long last that the ACOTAR portion doesn’t tell Feyre’s and Tamlin’s story.

There is exactly one image that is even romantically coded for Feylin, and it’s this one: (art by Yvonne Gilbert, coloring by me)

It’s a beautiful illustration, but... They’re not even looking at each other.

I’ve never worked as an illustrator (even though I’ve taken my fair share of art classes), but I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the only image where Feyre and Tamlin have eye contact is the scene UTM right before she stabs him.

If SJM had any say in which scenes were included in this book, then that excerpt doesn’t surprise me at all. (You can see some more examples of the included pictures on the wiki page here.)

I looked through my copy of the book, and there are eight images of Feyre and Rhys together. Eight. ACOTAR’s portion ends with Rhys and Feyre talking, instead of Feyre and Tamlin walking off into the sunset, which is how the book actually ends.

At this point, you may be wondering why I’m so passionate about this, so I’ll tell you. Once upon a time, I wanted to be an illustrator. Back in 2017, I was studying real-life examples of coloring books and trying to learn from the experts. I’ve since made art more of a hobby to focus on writing, but the interesting thing about studying art and writing is this: The official coloring book doesn’t tell a comprehensive story.

Book 1 is my favorite book in the series, and I would love to see it get more love as time goes on, instead of being dismissed as a “boring prequel”. It set up what the rest of the series became [insert rant about the tonal shift between books, the discarded sequel that was eventually written into ACOMAF, and my feelings about the portrayal of Tamlin’s character in general].

It is a good book on its own... but I couldn’t tell you that if I had to sum it up from the coloring book excerpts alone. Important characters like Lucien are never given an introduction page, unlike the ACOMAF section, where each member of the Inner Circle was highlighted in addition to getting a group shot. Honestly, I wouldn’t want to take that away from them, since they are important to the series, but I would prefer to give more characters like Lucien or Tarquin a chance to shine instead of adding in a picture of the Attor or the Middengard Worm Wyrm. For those who don’t have the coloring book, if you look through the images on the wiki, yes, pictures of those ugly creatures are really in there. Mmm. Just what you want to color in a romance book about sexy hot faeries.

If I had my way, here are the scenes from ACOTAR that I would choose to tell the story properly. To make it more of a challenge, I kept it to 18 scenes, to match the number of illustrations that were chosen for ACOMAF:

Feyre aims for the deer and sees the wolf [technically it’s already in there, so it can stay, but I would change the excerpt and the illustration. I’m just not crazy about that particular artist’s comic book style here, since it doesn’t suit the fairy tale nature of the book]

Feyre speaks to the mercenary [not only does it highlight a criminally underrepresented badass character, it defines the danger of Prythian, and the overall conflict in the book]

Tamlin’s beast form in the cabin as he bargains with Feyre [which is different from the one where they’re walking away from the cabin; the excerpt that was chosen doesn’t have the same impact, imo]

The Spring Court manor [it’s in there, so it can stay, and besides, John Howe’s work is beautiful]

Tamlin’s High Fae reveal [Yvonne Gilbert’s illustration of Tamlin and Lucien is gorgeous, but it’s a shame that Lucien isn’t mentioned by name in the excerpt] 

Lucien and Feyre on horseback as they discuss the Suriel [as interesting as it was to see the Suriel depicted by itself, we need context to know why it’s there]

The Suriel and its advice to Feyre: “Stay with the High Lord” [*cough cough* it was always about Tamlin *cough cough*]

Tamlin takes Feyre to the glen, as shown above [although this could also be traded out for the art gallery or the willow scene]

Rhysand taunting Tamlin, and Lucien protecting Feyre [this ties in better to the theme of the book, instead of his description on Fire Night as “the most beautiful man” she’d ever seen. Let’s stay on track, people, and keep it to one love interest per book, mm’kay?]

Tamlin sends Feyre home in the carriage [as much as I would love to highlight Solstice, it doesn’t have the same impact on the plot. Besides, I do love Yvonne Gilbert’s illustration of the scene; even if Feyre isn’t looking at Tamlin, it is thematically appropriate]

An illustration of Feyre’s family, not just of Elain gardening [thus showing what Feyre is giving up by choosing to return to Prythian]

Alis takes Feyre to the cave [this illustration is one that piqued my interest when I first flipped through the book, so it stays]

Amarantha’s intro [it’s perfect as-is; gotta love Charlie Bowater’s work, though I would have loved for the image to be bigger]

Feyre runs from the Worm Wyrm [much more interesting instead of just showing it by itself, because pink and brown does not make for a compelling color palette, thank you very much]

The tattoo and the bargain [it can stay, only because it does affect the plot and future books *grumble, grumble*]

Amarantha taunts Feyre about killing Tamlin [the current version was a big spoiler to me when I first saw it, but the scene needs to be included in some form]

Feyre’s transformation to High Fae, perhaps surrounded by a couple of the other High Lords [the current scene with her and Rhys talking about her human heart works, but it’s very Feysand-centric in a book that should be about Feylin. Plus, more character reveals!]

Feyre and Tamlin’s return to the Spring Court as they walk off into the sunset [ft. Tamlin without his mask!!]

Done.

Now, I know this doesn’t cover all of the scenes I would have loved to see illustrated, but it does make up for the severe lack of Feylin compared to all of the Feysand illustrations. If I feel like it later on, I might do the same excerpt review for ACOMAF and ACOWAR, because I had no idea what was happening in those books from the illustrations and excerpts alone. (And I still haven’t read ACOWAR all the way through. Way to hook me on the plot, promotional material.) We don’t even see what the villain in those two books even looks like! That’s a royal shame (pun intended).

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! You don’t have to agree with my takes, but this is something that’s been on my mind for a while now, and with Tamlin Week 2023 coming up, I felt inspired to finally put my thoughts together. Maybe this will also inspire someone to make something for the event? Maybe this is a sign I should pull out my markers and paints more often... Hmm. If nothing else, this was a good exercise. And I don’t want to be the sort of person who criticizes something without offering suggestions for how it could be better.

I am glad that ACOTAR exists, because it has inspired so much creativity in myself and my fellow fanfiction authors and artists. It has also inspired a lot of people to pick up reading again, and if that leads to people reading more and making new stuff, so much the better. :)

[garrettwrites]

I don't care about how beautiful or ugly AI pictures are.

Before you read this, keep in mind that I have taken History and Culture of the Arts classes (from ancient history to the days of today), History of Drawing classes, as well as studying on my free time because this quite literally my area of expertise. I am also finalizing my license degree in the artes field.

Art in it's many forms is a form of communication. It doesn't matter if it's paintings, illustrations, video games, books, architecture, sculpting, pottery, you name it. It's how each artist/writer/musician views and shares the world, how each person has an unique approach reflecting their own life experiences and tastes.

It's how one writer drafts poetry upon the ocean, while another fears it, and a third one merely views it as a body of salty water. How one artist tenderly paints the hands of a portrait while another slaps a couple of brush strokes on it and calls it a day. How some do a lot of messy and sketchy charcoal lines, while others prefer a pretty and rendered piece. How some prefer the melody of the violin, while others the beat of the drums. It's how you draw backgrounds, what backgrounds, people, which people.

The details you choose to put in - a flower pressed into the background, with no importance to the picture or environment but still consciously put there, for a reason or another; the way a character shows their emotions, in ways we rarely think about but the author knows intimately; how a game developer hides little easter eggs in their game and delights in those who find them and get the reference...

How we still talk to Homero after he's been dead for millennia. How we see ruins from civilizations past, where people once had their first love, first tragedy, last breath. How now we use digital art to depict animals, the same way ancient humans used stone to carve them upon walls.

A machine has no thought. It copies without meaning. You cannot talk to it or marvel at the details it puts in, because they are mindless. The machine puts in a rose because the artists it references also put in roses. It draws a blue ocean when you write prompts for mermaids because mermaid = water = blue. It takes from the humans before it and doesn't adapt it or build upon it, for it cannot combine two completely different - and at first sight irrelevant - things on its own without it having been done before. This is not Detroit: Become Human. The AI is not alive or intelligent. It's a tool, the same way your phone or microwave are.

I love pretty art. In fact, as someone finishing my license in the arts field, I would consider myself quite elitist. I have a strong love for Pre-Raphaelite and Noveau art, and classical architecture. I would suck Alphonse Mucha and John William Waterhouse's dicks if they so commanded, if I could get a small napkin drawing from them afterwards. I don't like XX century art movements like cubism or dadaism. I find them ugly, and they go completely against my aesthetics.

But as much as I hate those, the artists who made them had a story to tell. They had hands and a brain. They put it forward in their own way, with their own language, based on their own likes and dislikes, happy and tragic memories.

A machine has none of the touch.

Art is not the same as working in the mines or in the sewers. It's a human connection. It has been here before we even called ourselves human, it has been here when there was more than one human species walking the planet (for the homo sapiens wasn't always alone). There ir no need to replace it.

Does AI artwork has it's uses? Well, I believe so. I believe there could be ways to make it work. A tool is a tool, after all. But I have yet to see it being used in a ""good"", innovative, useful way.

There is no TLDR. I cannot contain what I just wrote in few words. It would defeat the purpose.

[viscountessevie]

Clytemnestra's Bind [ARC Review]

Release Date: 15th June 2023 Overall Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Tragedy Level: 😭😭😭

Before we get into this review, here are some trigger warnings to keep in mind before reading this novel: Brutal Murders of Children (especially in the first few chapters), Violence and Rape.

My Review: 

Clytemnestra’s Bind by Susan C. Wilson is a Greek Tragedy in every sense of the phrase. The novel centres on Queen Clytemnestra of Mycenae. In the Greek myths, she is Helen of Troy’s twin sister and is known for killing her husband Agamemnon upon his return from the Trojan War.  This was after he had sacrificed their eldest daughter, Iphigenia to the Gods. The novel details her life long before Iphigenia’s death. 

The book is split into three parts. Part 1 starts with the invasion of her kingdom and having her first husband and child brutally taken from her. Part 2 covers her subsequent marriage to Agamemnon, her relationship with her three eldest children; Iphigenia, Electra, Orestes. Part 3 covers the crux of Clytemnestra’s notoriety in the Greek myths as she plots Agamemnon’s demise after Iphigenia is sacrificed. 

Susan paints a beautifully tragic portrait of Clytemnestra and her life. I kept thinking how much can one woman take before she completely snaps. Susan fully understands the genre she is working with and completely delivers. I could feel our heroine’s pain at every single turn. I had to put the book down several times to sit with it and let the devastation wash over me. Yet I appreciate how the author had done it. It was unflinching and tragic without being too gratuitous. The novel provides an excellent example of female rage that showcases how Clytemnestra gets to the point of murdering Agamemnon. 

I also adored how well developed Clytemnestra is and the insights we get from her point of view. So much of her life happens to her rather than her being the driving force of it. It is admirable to see how she still pushes through and tries her best to do right by her children after having lost her first family. Her relationships with everyone from her husband to his brothers, Menelaus and Aegisthus, her sister Helen to her children are all so unique and well written. The way she interacts with everyone is just so interesting to read and was a brilliant exploration into her character. 

On its own, the novel is a tragic tale of a Queen who had gone through the most unimaginable horrors one can go through, losing most of the people she had loved and having her agency taken away from her. That is what makes her taking control of her life towards the end so satisfying. 

As a reiteration of an old myth, Susan C. Wilson does an excellent job of building upon the lore. The hints and foreshadowing strategically placed all throughout the story as we know what is to come was exhilarating to read with a sense of dread knowing the tragedy looming amongst the characters. 

All in all, I would recommend this book for anyone looking to read a well written tragedy that covers grief in a meaningful manner and illustrates the female rage in all its glory. For Greek mythology lovers, especially those who appreciate a good Greek Tragedy, this one was definitely made for us. Picking up on the foreshadowing felt like a fun session of ‘Connect the Dots’. That being said, once again I warn everyone to tread carefully as the book has depictions of rape, violence and brutal murders. Read safely and enjoy this book everyone! 

Thank you to Neem Tree Press and NetGalley for an advanced copy of this book in exchange for my honest review.