#ons reread 2024

[amethystroselily]

I love Shinya’s character arc in the novels of going from jealous of guren to jealous of Mahiru. He “tried to see what Mahiru saw in him” so hard he fell in love.

[kingjasnah]

look i know the szeth prologue carries a lot of introductory information as to the magic system and how it can be used (and if there is one thing the cosmere in general excels at it is using the rules of a hard magic system in interesting ways for fight scenes) but it is so crazy that his internal monologue is so full of grief for what he is about to do and his first spoken line is "what am i? i'm sorry" and then he starts killing people in such an overcomplicated rube goldbergian way. why'd he lash a guy to the ceiling above an upright spear and just wait (fearspren spawning up around them) until the lashing broke and he impaled himself. you didnt have to do that man no one was around to see it

[why-the-heck-not]

finished a book in the morning and that was a mistake like what am I supposed to do with the rest of the day? Starting a new book would feel like a blasphemy towards this one but also so would just moving on & doing other things

[diyasgarden]

betting on losing dogs cats

a story of a stray (patrick zweig) and a stray (kitten)

When Patrick finds it, he thinks the cat is dead. 

It takes him a moment to even recognize what it is, first assuming the little dark speck under the streetlight is just some unfortunate roadkill. A racoon or skunk. Maybe even an overgrown rat. The patch of grass it lays on is close enough to the narrow parking lot that all it would take is one hasty driver to swerve onto the curb and leave it for dead. It’s only when he pushes himself off the wall of the roadside shop and towards the light can he make out its little paws and upturned ears. 

It’s a bit odd for a cat to be out here in the first place. Far out on the interstate and away from any city. A place between places, but not a destination itself. He himself only stopped here for the pack of Marlboro Reds now in his back pocket. If he believed in a higher power, he’d take the dead cat as a sign to quit smoking. He opts for another drag instead. 

It’s on its side with its paws outstretched and eyes closed, the street light forming a warm halo around its body. Its fur is simultaneously scruffy and groomed in a way that makes it unclear if the cat is a stray or not. Although Patrick has a hard time imagining anything laying on the ground like this is loved in any capacity. Maybe it had owners it slipped away from. Or owners who let it go. There isn’t any blood either, so he can’t even tell if it’s roadkill. From its position to its stillness, it all feels peaceful. A hazy scene which looks less like a dead cat and more of an artist's rendition of one. 

He pulls the cigarette from his lips and languidly exhales. Without his permission, his legs bend down to stroke the cat’s sable fur. His hand tepidly extends and just as he is about to indulge his impulse, the creak of the store door’s hinge snaps him out of the trance.

His eyes flicker to the couple stepping out. While they look his age they sport smiles that give them a sprightly joy he now lacks. His expression turns sheepish as he remains squatted, arm out. They’re too engrossed in their own conversation to even notice Patrick. Their voices blend with the noises on the road and his gaze trails them back to their car, before he pushes himself up. Eyes drifting back down to the cat. 

He lifts the cigarette to his lips and looks to the side, away from the Carvaggio of a corpse. His eyes settle on the interstate and the cars who zoom by. His next challenger is two states over. If he is lucky, it will be another five hours on the road (it’ll take him seven). Yeah, you should get back to your car.

He drops the cigarette to the ground, allowing himself one last look at the cat as he grinds the cigarette butt into the pavement. This time he sees its paw twitch.

The cat’s nose sluggishly presses against his thumb and its whiskers brush against a callus on his hand. A soft, ticklish sensation Patrick would enjoy more if it wasn’t for the dull drone of the fan above him. His head tilts up to watch its jagged movement, expecting it to fall down on him any second. 

The low walls have a grimy yellow hue and if he squints he can make out the faint outline of cracks. His nose wrinkles at the stale wet-dog smell — which really should be reported on Google reviews. He takes it all in and is hit with a sense of deranged nostalgia for the crappy motel rooms he’s stayed in. The type of place you could fleetingly carve a home in, if you blurred around the edges. There is a somber appreciation at the fact that this shelter is the only one open at this hour. That even now, this is the sort of place to find him. 

He looks at the elderly woman behind the front desk, the only other person here. Her eyebrows droop to her eyes, which flick every few seconds to the clock overhead, but never to him. Her nose is buried into one of those cheap novels sold in the check-out aisles of grocery stores. A book not nearly compelling enough for the comical way she clings to it, but admittedly an astute way to ignore his presence. 

He lets out a sharp exhale and parts his lips to speak, but is cut short by the feeling of velvety fur shifting in his hands. His eyes dip down once more to the little thing, tracing its frail and dainty shape. It's too small to be anymore than a few weeks old. A kitten.

It sticks out its tongue and his finger instinctively moves to feel its sandpaper-like texture. Has he ever held a kitten before? He doubts he has ever been trusted to hold anything this young in his life. Does he even know anyone who had a kitten? 

No.

He knew someone with cats though. 

The corners of his lip involuntarily twitch upwards as he remembers a tabby who would crawl up onto his lap whenever he was around. 

“I don’t get why he likes you so much,” Art told him once, as if Patrick knew why Grandma Donaldson’s cat preferred him. The blonde ran a finger over the red scratch to the left against his pale skin, the little orange beast’s favorite scratching post. 

“Well he has good taste,” Patrick quipped back in response with a lopsided smirk, earning a laugh from the blonde. Or was it a scoff? The corners of his lip dip down once more, eyebrows knotting as he tries to recall.

It had to be one of the two. 

Could it have been both? 

What was even the name of the cat? Something with an S. Sebastian? 

Fuck this.

Not like any of it matters anyway. 

Art’s grandmother is dead. 

The cat probably is too. 

None of this matters. 

He feels the kitten’s tongue scratch his thumb once more, and his attention is brought back to the creature in his hands. Its amber eyes flutter open for a second before shutting again. It faithfully repeats this motion and Patrick is overwhelmed with the sense it is stuck between life and death. Purgatory? Not quite. More like it hasn’t decided if it wants to remain in this life or move on to the next. To live or to die.

He wants to hit himself for his next thought. 

You’d be better off dead. 

“Well, definitely a stray,” are the first things the woman says when she finally acknowledges his presence. His frown deepens into a grimace, but is quickly washed away with a more neutral expression. If she notices, she says nothing. The woman’s finger runs back and forth over the kitten’s delicate spine, as Patrick tentatively places it on the treen desk in front of her. . 

“So you’ll take it?”

The woman’s finger abruptly stops the moment the words leave his lips, just watching the little creature roll around. The ragged hum of the fan turns oppressive as he waits for her to speak, but she only turns her head up to him instead. She sports a frown which is equal parts pitiful and honest, her eyes piercing into his with little wrinkles that imitate her lips.  

“Well in cases like this…” she starts in a tentative voice usually reserved for children, but her voice fades into the background. He doesn’t catch anything after that, his focus shifting to the bile forming in his throat. 

An acutely sadistic part of him wants to laugh at himself. Mock the asinine belief that he could save this kitten. What did he expect? That this shit show of a shelter would magically nurse this dying creature to life? It’s hilarious to him now. Another joke with him at the punchline. 

The woman continues on about sedation and tranquilizers, but it remains a distant murmur, eyes drifting down to the kitten. He watches it open its mouth and lets out a noise so soft, he may as well have imagined it. 

Maybe he did. 

He probably did. 

Not that it matters. 

For Patrick, it’s the only sound in the room. 

You did the right thing.

You did the right thing. 

You did the right thing. 

You did the right thing.

You did the right thing. 

This is what he tells himself as he hits 80 on the interstate. He holds his foot steady on the accelerator, eyes glued to the endless highway in front of him. After the day he’s had, what’s a bit of speeding? The whole kitten debacle was an hour long detour, and now he doubts he’ll even make it to the tournament in time. Not that it would stop him from trying. Why else would he be speeding? It’s all justified. 

There's a slight disapproving trill, and from the corner of his eye he shoots a look at the kitten now in his passenger seat. It sleepily raises its head to meet his gaze, the only part of its body peeking out from the worn, gray shirt he’s wrapped it in.

It purrs once more. 

“Okay sure, I’ll slow down” 

(He doesn’t)

author’s note: finally explored a concept that has been lingering in my head since i wrote these cat headcanons. this fic is different than anything else i’ve shared, so please share your thoughts! shout out to @pparacxosm for pulling me out of fanfic writer retirement !! and also shoutout to sebastian. realest cat out there!! i love you and your owner @apatheticrater !!

art credit: i’m not sure who drew the smoking cat itself, but i made the yellow background-double cat graphic. if you know who the artist, let me know so I can credit them :)

[sororygilmore]

HOUSE OF HOLLOW by Krystal Sutherland

[lost-in-fandoms]

Winter warmers day 25: Holiday alone time. No pairing. A bit of Max&GP. About 1.2k words.

Max sits down on the carpet, back against the couch, setting his glass of gin tonic down beside him.

The house is quiet, and he closes his eyes, letting his head fall back right beside where Sassy is curled up, listening to her breathing.

It's weird to be alone at Christmas.

He can't remember it ever happening before. Even in the worst years, when money was tight and home wasn't always a happy place, he was never alone.

It's not that he lacked invitations. His mom had called several times telling him to go, and Victoria had invited him too. Even some of his friends had reached out, telling him about their plans, asking him to join. But for the first time, all Max wanted for Christmas was silence.

He had plans lined up for the weeks after new years, and for the months after that, but the idea of having to be Max Verstappen for one more minute had been unbearable.

So he had told everyone he was busy, he had plans, he was fine, and then he had closed himself in his house and had let his brain go quiet.

He shifts slightly, moving his head closer to Sassy, nuzzling her side with his nose until she chirps at him, curling away.

"Just you and I, Sassy girl," he murmurs, attempting to kiss her paw and failing, only succeeding in making her shift further away. Somewhere in the kitchen, he hears Jimmy hops down from a chair, never one to be left out.

When he had told Victoria his plans for the holidays, she had asked him if he was having a midlife crisis too early, which is a stupid thing to say, because you never know when the middle of your life is. And also, Max is not having a crisis.

He's just...tired.

He had thought that retirement would mean finally having time to himself, but so far, two full weeks into it, this was the first day he had felt like he could leave his phone on the table and not having to check it. The first day he had nothing on his schedule. No meetings, no sponsor dinners, no videos to film, no streams to entertain.

Just him, his drink, and his cats.

He lets his eyes fall closed, a hand instinctively going to cover his glass, because Jimmy is always sticking his nose where he shouldn't.

He knows sitting on the floor is not the smartest choice, he can feel a twinge in his lower back already, but the carpet feels nice under his fingers, and he doesn't feel like getting up.

Jimmy's wet nose bumps against his wrist, nosing along the rim of the glass, and Max chuckles, opening one eye to look down at him, predictably finding him trying to get into his gin tonic.

"That's not for kittens," he chides softly, pushing him away and then dragging him close with his free hand. Jimmy, contrary to what Sassy would have done, lets himself be moved around and placed in his lap, already purring.

For a while, they just stay like that. Sassy breathing, Jimmy purring and Max just listening. Quiet.

Then Max's phone chimes once, making him jump.

He doesn't want to check it. He doesn't want to have to be a person again, even if just for the time it would take to answer a text, but he reaches for it anyway, the worry that it could be something important gnawing at him.

Should I be worried about you?

Max frowns, looking at the text from GP. No hellos, no how are yous, just that puzzling question. Their last conversation had been about the red bull Christmas party, about taking a car together.

No?

His phone immediately pings again, as if GP had been waiting for him to answer.

I heard you're hiding and the Max I know doesn't hide. So, should I be worried?

Who the fuck has been snitching to GP?

I am not hiding I am having some well earned alone time. I am perfectly fine.

He sends it before he can think too hard about it, not wanting to question if it's the whole truth. He is fine. There is nothing physically wrong with him, and he is content, sitting here with his cats. The fact that he also feels weirdly lost and exhausted doesn't change the fact that he is fine.

Do you want to come here?

That doesn't require much thinking. He's spent time with GP's family before, and they're lovely, but if he had wanted to spend time with people he would have gone home.

No thank you.

I can be in Monaco tomorrow.

Max pauses, fingers hesitating before he can type his refusal. He doesn't need anyone to come over. He's fine. And he still doesn't feel like having to be Max Verstappen, doesn't have the energy for it.

But GP is different. GP never made him feel like he should be anyone other than himself. And GP can be quiet, quiet enough to let Max's brain be silent too.

Are you bored of retirement already?

It's not a yes, or a no, but Max hopes that GP will figure it out anyway.

I'll be there for lunch. You can call me if you need anything.

GP always does.

Max drops his phone again to take a sip of his gin tonic, the ice melting in it already, then turning to try and nuzzle Sassy again.

In the safe space of his silent house he is finally able to admit to himself that maybe, just maybe, he isn't absolutely fine. He feels lost, like for the first time in his life he doesn't know what his next step is, and he feels tired, like his whole racing career caught up with him all at once.

But that's okay. GP will be here tomorrow, and he will sort him out. Because he always does.

[celestialrealms]

They introduce Barbatos like this, by closing up on him and making MC immediately ask who he is.. because he's the main love interest btw. If you care,,, (/j)

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

The West Passage

medieval fantasy set in a giant crumbling palace of traditions with forgotten origin, ruled by giant eldritch Ladies

when winter weather comes in the middle of summer, and a beast below the palace begins to rise, two teens from Grey who have suddenly gained a lot of responsibilities set out on separate journeys to the other towers to find a way to stop it, and meet all sorts of strange people and creatures along the way

world where pronouns/names are based on people’s roles

tons of cool medieval-style chapter illustrations by the author

[v-tired-queer]

It feels like America looked at people like me and everyone else who even just vaguely doesn't fit the white cishet social requirements and expectations and went "Fuck you."

Almost every man I'm related to has served this country in one way or another via the military. Mostly through the army, but sometimes through the other branches, too. I was raised to be very patriotic, to be proud to be an American. I grew up celebrating every single American-centered holiday there is here. I grew up wearing red, white and blue, singing God Bless America, watching the fireworks and celebrating being free.

Apparently, I grew up lied to.

I can't be proud to be an American when people left and right are being stripped of the basic freedoms that aren't courtesies given by the government, but a necessities for human life. Healthcare, housing, food, shelter, reproductive rights and so many more I can't even begin to fathom the length of the list let alone write it all out here, should not be up for debate. And yet here in America, every four years, those very issues are on the ballot, asking if we've grown in our mindsets, begging us to know that people are people regardless of gender, race, sexuality, national origin, disability, ethnicity, culture, religion, or class. And yet we answer, "No they're not," and have outcomes like this.

I'm tired of an America that would rather have a convinced felon who has fucked us over before over a woman of color with every qualification be our president.

I'm tired of an America that continues to see women, people of color, and other minority groups as somehow lesser than the white cishet male standard that dominates our government.

I'm tired of an America where people would rather see others suffer at the hands of those who should be supporting and uplifting the people than expand their own viewpoints and empathy.

I'm tired of this being the America that I was raised to love.

It's okay to be tired, lost, scared, confused, hurt and grieving. I know I am. But while these next four years will undoubtedly be hard for most of us, we can and will get through it. We'll do it together, fighting for each other and trying to support, love and uplift one another in the face of a government who couldn't care less.

I'm not proud to be an American, but I am proud of the people who will walk away from this result today with a new passion and sense of justice not just for themselves, but for their friends, family, and neighbors, known and unknown. I'm proud of the people who will stand strong and keep fighting. I'm proud of the people who will keep living after this, going on in life despite the setbacks. It's a beautiful "fuck you" to the powers that be.

I'm not proud of America. But I am proud of us.

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2024: THE MESSAGE by K.A. Applegate, adapted by Chris Grine.

The original ANIMORPHS books were a hugely formative influence on....My Entire Life, Writerly and Otherwise, so I've been collecting the graphic novels as they come out, too!

[lady-merian]

Fortnight of Books 2024

Day 5:

Most thrilling, unputdownable book of 2024? Ooh maybe one of the Tommy and Tuppence books, as I think I spent most of the day making excuses to keep listening (“I could sew.. I could clean…”), or maybe The Forgotten Beasts of Eld because once I made time to sit down with it I zoomed through it. Or maybe Brother Cadfael’s Penance because I was hoping it would resolve something that’d been left unresolved (and it did. :D) but I’m not sure I can choose between them.

Book that was most outside your comfort zone/new genre exploration? I went into Planet Narnia (as well as The Narnia Code, which is supposed to be the more accessible version of the same thing*) with much doubt but a relatively open mind. I did learn things I hadn’t known before, but remained unconvinced of the main point of Michael Ward’s thesis. This, however, is not the most out of my comfort zone book: reading Planet Narnia led me to listen to The Discarded Image by C. S. Lewis as an audiobook. I have to admit I did fall asleep a number of times and had to replay sections but at least part of that was due to the narrator. At any rate, I think listening to Oxford lectures** (with little to none of the preparatory material*** a student would normally have read first) is the farthest out of my comfort zone that I’ve read in a while. I could feel my brain stretching. On the whole I liked it and plan to read it one day rather than just listen to it and risk falling asleep again. *while I would say The Narnia Code was better, I would argue that it was due to additional material rather than accessibility. I understood the thesis version just fine, I just think he’s picking and choosing things to suit his vision. There’s a really good blog post that sums up my disagreements very well and I’ll link it if anyone’s interested. I think it’d be interesting even to someone who hasn’t read Planet Narnia. **sort of. From the preface: This book is based on a series of lectures given more than once at Oxford. Some who attended it have expressed a wish that its substance might be given a more permanent form. ***I was going to say I had read nothing of the sort, but he did mention the Bible at some point as something he assumed readers either knew or knew they needed to know in order to study medieval literature.

[amethystroselily]

After having read most of the catastrophe at 16 light novels, the creation of the Shinoa squad is so funny to me. Guren was like gotta put all the human experiments at my disposal together. Oh fuck I need a fifth member. Mitsuba’s squad just died… fuck it, put her in.

[kingjasnah]

the further i get in my wok reread the more apparent it is to me that kaladin's depression is so central to who he is that you cant think of him as a protagonist w/o considering it. and yeah the premise of the radiant magic system means that people who are actively trying to heal from various traumas are gravitated towards pursuing oaths that help them do so but it's really good that all of kaladin's childhood flashbacks are like yeah no the depression was clinical. it was always there. all that terrible shit also happened and he is getting better but no matter how many ideals he swears he's still gonna have to deal with it. meg thee stallion said it best 😔 bad bitches have bad days too.

[sororygilmore]

DAUGHTER OF SMOKE AND BONE by Laini Taylor

[franollie]

Forever living with the fact that I hate that they whitewashed Fiyero again, but I love the Fiyero from the movie

There are literally productions casting POC actors for the role, but Jonathan played the role so well.

It's…yk

EXACTLY! with broadway i do give a little more leeway when it comes to casting (obviously roles that are written to be played by characters of color should only be played by people of color but other than that i do think musical casting should be based above all else on talent). the musical Wicked is very very different from Gregory Mcguire's book series and they took fiyero's character a different route to tell a different story. That doesn't excuse the musical's white-washing, but I understand why they did it.

NOW, in regards to the movie, I am very disappointed that they didn't cast an indigenous actor to play fiyero, and i don't really think jonathan bailey gave a "good enough" performance to excuse that. for one, i think he looked too old to play the role (that's not me being mean, that's just my opinion on the casting in general. i think a lot of the actors they hired were too old to be playing college aged students). he did a great job, but them casting a younger, indeginous actor would have added more to the themes they pulled from the books. you have to be so intentional with casting when it comes to movies because it's a form of communication. film and television allows the audience to infer things about a character based off of how they present themself and what they look like physically in ways that stage productions can't. casting is an artform in a way: you have to find the guy that can play the character AND believably emulate them.

i appreciated the movie leaning into the books more than the musical was able to, but i wish they continued that theme with fiyero and even the other students. one of the biggest points of tension from what i remember was between the animal students and the human students as the animals started to have their rights taken away but that's a whole other conversation.

[zoroshonkingbazonkadonkas]

screeching my head off