#resistance in fantasy literature

[joncronshawauthor]

The Power of Cultural Identity in Fantasy Narratives

In fantasy literature, few themes are as potent and relevant as the struggle between cultural assimilation and resistance. This conflict, mirroring real-world historical and contemporary issues, provides a fertile ground for exploring complex character dynamics and societal tensions. Today, we’ll delve into this theme using “The Fall of Wolfsbane” as our looking glass. The Clash of…

[solarpunkpresentspodcast]

On this episode of the podcast, Ariel chats with Dr Tanis MacDonald about her upcoming course in winter 2025 on hopepunk. What exactly is so punk about this kind of hope? Can hopepunk even be said to be a genre in its own right, or is it an aesthetic or lens that we can use to think through just why the characters are deciding to have hope in bleak situations?

Tune in for recommendations of hopepunk novels (and poetry!), ruminations on political hope, the centrality of relationships and radical empathy to these stories, and more. Plus some academic theories informing the formulations of hope, of course.

Links:

Tanis MacDonald | Author of Straggle: Adventures in Walking While Female

Watershed Writers with Tanis MacDonald | Podcast on Spotify

Hopepunk, explained: the storytelling trend that weaponizes optimism | Vox

Companion Species Manifesto

The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction

S2.9 Reframing Narratives With Ecocriticism, With Dr Jenny Kerber

[gennsoup]

"We may stand, if only on one leg, or at least be left still upon our knees."

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King

[critical-quoter]

A Resistance of Witches - Morgan Ryan ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Thank you to NetGalley and Viking Penguin for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

This is a debut novel. Now for many of us, that statement would have us begin a book with trepidation if we ever pick it up to begin with. I, myself, am guilty of starting debuts with the thought that it's just going to be rough. But holy moly, Morgan Ryan blew me away with this one. There are so many things I want to rave about with A Resistance of Witches. 

Firstly, the plot. I read the synopsis and was immediately hooked. A young witch fighting against time and Nazi witches to find a book that will end the world? I mean, come on. What's not to enjoy. But then as I immersed myself into the story, it became so much more. It wasn't just action. There was so much more that went deeper into the characters' backgrounds, the world itself. Everything that led up to witches who had been persecuted for millennia choosing sides in World War 2. 

Then we get to the writing itself. Writing can honestly be what makes or breaks a great story and thankfully, this one did not suffer from shoddy words. The pacing was perfectly executed. The sense of urgency was injected into the book without it feeling like a countdown timer sitting in the background. Truly a case of "show, not tell" done so well. 

Finally the pièce de résistance, the part that sold this book and convinced me that I needed to buy the hardcopy immediately at release: the characters. Lydia was amazing, like hands down, one of the best 19-year-old characters I have come across in a long time. This wasn't written like your '00s YA novels. We didn't get stuck with a girl who's "not like other girls" but was secretly the greatest witch of all time. Lydia was flawed. She hated the way she looked to the point of using a glamour. She was only really proficient at 1 type of magic, and she came across as pretty naïve. But she is so beautifully written that you can't help but cheer for her, cry with her, feel the same rage she feels. Our other main characters, Rebecca and Henry, have so much depth as well. I don't want to delve too much into them without spoiling key parts to their story and the story as a whole. But these three main characters were so richly crafted and formed on the page, that if I wasn't convinced that magic wasn't real and witches didn't collaborate with Winston Churchill in 1940, then this could have been a story about real people. 

Needless to say, this was such a surprising stand out book to me. Like one of the best I've read this year, or of all time, to be completely truthful. I'll recommend it to anyone and everyone.

[bioethicists]

"all organizing is science fiction.

we are bending the future, together, into something we have never experienced. a world where everyone experiences abundance, access, pleasure, human rights, dignity, freedom, transformative justice, peace. we long for this, we believe it is possible.

organizers tend to take ourselves so seriously. i was in a sort of closet for a long time as a sci fi reader, because i was sensing strategy and guidance in the pages of fiction, in the words of black sci fi writers like octavia butler, samuel delany, jewelle gomez, in the anthology dark matter. i was reading feminism and decentralization in ursula le guin, network and chaos theory in william gibson.

when i peeked out a bit, i began to share my suspicion that the realm of science and speculative fiction could be a great place to intentionally practice the futures we long for, and that there were writers doing that..."

-adrienne maree brown, ALL ORGANIZING IS SCIENCE FICTION

["As a child or an adolescent, you may have made attempts to run away. If you were more passive, there was escape through sleep, books, and television. Many adult survivors still read obsessively. One woman said, "I'd buy a junk novel and read it till I fell asleep, usually for a good thirty six hours at a stretch." Others spend hours in front of the TV.

If you couldn't afford to believe the abuse was really happening, you could make believe something else was going on. Sometimes children create fantasies that explore their desire for power in a powerless situation. One woman dreamed of a little house she could live in all by herself, with locks on all the doors. Another spent her childhood dreaming of revenge:

"I'd watch Perry Mason to get ideas about how to kill my father. It was really the best of times. Every day I would get a new method. However the person was murdered on Perry Mason that day, I would go to bed that night, and that's how I would kill my father. One time on Perry Mason this guy killed his wife by knocking an electric fan into the bathtub. I imagined electrocuting him like that. I remember really vividly fantasizing about putting ground glass in the meatloaf. I was the cook. I thought about stabbing him, shooting him. Every night I killed him in another way."

Many survivors continue an intense fantasy life when they grow up:

"As an adult these changed to vindication fantasies, fantasies about having power in the world, revenge fantasies. I can work myself into a state of sobbing over something in a fantasy. I love fantasies about dying and everyone regretting all the wrongs they'd ever done to me. They're just an updated version of what I did as a kid. I can be lost in fantasy for hours. It's a lot safer to work things out in my head than to change things in the world."

Yet fantasies can be the source of a rich creative life. One teenager needed to escape so badly, she believed Star Trek was real. When the series was taken off the air, she began to hear the voices of the characters in her own head and started writing her own episodes. Today she is a successful science fiction writer."]

Ellen Bass and Laura Davis, The Courage to Heal, 1988

[deadly-diminuendo]

Sweet Dreams, Darling

a spawn astarion x fem!tav reader oneshot / nsfw / ~4.1k words

Summary: An evening spent reading a racy romance novel awakens a fantasy you never knew you had. The thought of your sleeping body becoming a thing to be used for someone else's pleasure brings you an unexpected thrill. Of course Astarion catches you in the act and of course he cannot resist teasing you. But he is willing to indulge you.

Tags/CW: somnophilia, consensual non-consent, tadpole mind sharing, vampire bites/blood drinking, kink discovery, piv sex, late act 3, mostly smut with some fluff

Read on AO3

Or read below...

Never has a collection of words upon a page enraptured you quite like this.

You could have spent hours perusing the diverse collection of books in your private suite, but the second you spotted this particular title, you simply could not resist plucking it from the shelf: Dusk’s Dark Desires. A steamy vampire romance novel taking Faerûn by storm, or so you have heard.

Whether it proved to be a well-written escapist fantasy capable of stimulating your senses, or a disaster full of laughable euphemisms and wild inaccuracies—something you and Astarion might enjoy ridiculing together perhaps—you thought you made the perfect choice for the night. Little did you know just how entirely it would captivate you.

After all it is certainly not the first time you have read something of this nature—erotic literature has long been a guilty pleasure of yours—but the book in your hands describes in riveting detail a fantasy you were not fully aware you had until this very moment.

A hazy notion of it would flicker through your mind whenever you would wake to find Astarion lying atop you, your blood such an aphrodisiac to him that he could not help but to succumb to carnal instinct, hands wandering, hips rolling, his arousal anything but subtle. His need for you never failed to ignite your need for him. All it would take was a word, a nod, a look, and then it would begin—your lips colliding, your clothes shedding, his cock sliding into your mouth, or plunging into your cunt, whatever suited the two of you best. You never felt more wanted, at least in those early days.

Even the times you did not wake thrilled you. You both treated your arrangement as your little secret, only acknowledging your intimate exchanges in knowing smiles and seductive whispers. All the nights you offered him your neck and sealed your promise with a kiss, all the mornings you awoke smiling as you felt fresh puncture marks in your skin, wondering if the act filled him with as much desire as it always seems to.

Wondering if he wanted to take more from you than your blood while you slept.

You flip a few pages back, eager to reread the passage that inspired your lecherous thoughts. Again you absorb the tantalizing prose and again the delicious encounter described plays out in your mind’s eye. A chamber cloaked in darkness, the only light a sliver of moonglow peeking in through the window. The protagonist, a mortal woman, alone and asleep upon a luxurious bed, unaware of what is soon to unfold. The vampire, graceful and silent as he enters the room, here to claim her blood—and her body.

Astarion here to claim you.

Your longing pools between your legs as you picture yourself and your own lover recreating this scandalous scenario. You imagine Astarion losing himself in your neck, lifting the hem of your nightdress, easing his way inside you, your body wholly ready to accept him even while unconscious.

What began as a tiny spark of curiosity has developed into overwhelming want. You want to wake to him indulging in your sleeping form more than he has ever dared before. Or not to wake at all, to discover in the morning that he’d had his wicked way with you while you were none the wiser.

You continue to read, immersing yourself in both the enticing words upon the page and the intoxicating idea of Astarion using your body for his pleasure. So lost in thought are you that, when the door creaks open, you jump.

Really, you should not be at all surprised. You knew Astarion would eventually be joining you tonight. Since your party began its stay at the Elfsong, the two of you have often spent your nights in this room, away from the prying eyes of the others. A cozy place for you to converse and cuddle in comfort—or, since that unforgettable experience you shared over his grave, to make love.

Your journey has held many surprises for you, but none more unexpected—and more welcome—than falling in love. Together you’ve formed a deep emotional connection founded on mutual trust, respect, and adoration—and your physical connection is all the better for it. You truly enjoy each other in every way.

And you would very much like to enjoy him tonight.

Astarion regards your flushed face with a touch of suspicion and a great deal of amusement, the curl of his lips hinting at the barrage of teases likely coming your way. You shut your book closed too quickly, too guiltily, you think. He knows he has caught you red-handed, and now you are red-faced to match it.

He takes a step closer to the bed and closer to you, a little thrill rushing through you as his gaze drops to the low cut of your chemise—but then you realize he means to glimpse at your novel, discern its title, uncover a clue to the mysteries held within. You hug the book tighter to you, not willing to give up its secrets this soon.

“Good book, I take it?”

You shrug, though you know your grin is likely giving you away. “It has been a pleasant enough diversion thus far.”

“Oh, I think it’s much more than that, darling,” he insists, sauntering closer before halting at the foot of the bed. “It must be quite an… intriguing read to bring such a pretty blush to those cheeks. Here I thought only I was capable of that.”

“Maybe I was thinking about you,” you admit with a flutter of your lashes.

“Like always, then?” He chuckles as heat again darkens your cheeks. “You do fluster so easily in my presence. Still a little shy even after all this time. How sweet you are, my dear.”

You can’t help but notice how his fingertips run up the bedpost, and you find yourself wishing those hands were all over you instead.

“Or maybe you are not as sweet as you seem, hmm?” His voice is low, sultry, the way it always is when he means to seduce you.

As if you needed seducing.

Your breath catches in your lungs as the mattress sinks beneath his weight, your body deathly still but for the pumping of your heart and the throbbing of your cunt. Eagerly you await his next move.

You watch his slow, measured crawl towards you, his hungered stare suggesting his need to devour and ravage you—but he stops, resting his chin in his hand as he lies there looking at you.

“What devilish thoughts have been going through your mind, I wonder? Dreaming up all the sinful things we might do together, perhaps? Wishing I was here with you? Touching you? Inside you?”

“Maybe,” you tell him with a coy smile. He does not yet know the depths of your depravity, but perhaps you might yet let him find out.

“And now that you have me…” He smirks, running a thumb across your parted lips, knowing he has you right where he wants you.

You cannot resist. You never can.

So you steal a kiss—and he snatches away your book.

You expected it to happen, really. It was inevitable. And though part of you is mortified that you have allowed him this much ammunition to tease you with—the other part of you wonders if he, too, just might like what he reads.

“Well, what have we here?” Astarion settles against the pillow to your left, looking all too pleased with himself as he begins to inspect his prize. “Dusk’s Dark Desires?” He sounds skeptical as he reads out the title, and though he flashes you an unimpressed look, you can detect a glimmer in his eyes. “Let’s see what dark desires have that sweet heart of yours beating so fast.”

If he had not guessed it already, he discovers it immediately upon opening the book: “Vampires, darling?” He tuts at you with mock disapproval. “Oh, my love. I should have known.”

You do feel rather embarrassed, knowing so much about the true horrors of vampirism, horrors he has had to endure—and yet the first night he bit you was a carnal awakening. A world-shattering, life-changing experience for you both.

But you fell in love with Astarion for the man he is, not the vampire he happens to be.

“It is, admittedly, a new fascination of mine. All because you are a fascination of mine. And so much more than that.”

You smile at each other, and your worries fade.

Though it soon becomes clear he intends to keep you blushing.

“My, my,” he remarks, clicking his tongue as his eyes scan the text in front of him. “Is this now a fascination of yours, too?” He begins to read aloud: “So serene did she lie beneath him, so scrumptious did she taste, so submissive was she in slumber, that he knew he must take all of her, inch by precious inch.”

This is all rather foolish, you think.

Yet to hear such words spoken in his irresistibly seductive timbre renders you speechless.

So he makes the obvious choice to keep going.

He rolls to his side, half hovering over you as he skims the rest of the page, skipping ahead a few lines: “Fear rattled her when she awoke to find him within her, fangs in throat, cock in flesh. Yet a rapturous need blossomed in her core, obliterating all rational thought. When she cried out at last, his mouth met hers with a ferocity beguiling and obscene, consuming her whole. She enfolded him into her arms and surrendered.”

A pause. The air feels electric between you as Astarion studies your face. Whatever conclusion he comes to makes him grin. “You filthy little degenerate. This really turns you on, doesn’t it?”

You are still quiet, so he persists.

“You like the thought of it, don’t you? You, lying here lost in your sweet dreams, while I take whatever I want?”

Somewhere within you still resides a shame that prevents you from confessing outright. You try to downplay it. “It’s just a silly little fantasy.”

“Is that all it is?” He lets the book fall to the bed as he moves to straddle you. “Oh, no, my love. I know you too well to believe that. Your body betrays you.”

“Does it?” you ask innocently, but you know full well it does. Lust already blazed within you before he’d even entered the room, and now his every touch fuels the flames.

“Hmm, let me see…”

His palm cups your chin.

“Pupils dilated.”

Lips inches from yours.

“Cheeks reddened.”

Fingers trace your heart.

“Heartrate accelerated.”

Then graze your breasts.

“Nipples hardened.”

Lower, lower, lower.

“Cunt soaked.”

Mouths crash together.

No more words pass between you as you lose yourselves in your fervent worship of each other, though your fantasy is far from forgotten.

Not by you.

Not by him.

+++

“I would not mind indulging you. In fact I would rather like to try it myself.”

Those were his first words to you in the morning when you awoke entangled in his arms.

You were elated. You admitted how badly you wanted it—wanted him to take and take and take from you while you sleep. Wanted to be nothing more than his personal plaything for a night.

And tonight you will put your plan into place.

You are alone. You are restless. You are wide awake.

And so you are grateful for the little gift Astarion left out for you on the desk.

Together you decided upon two key conditions to be met for your end of the bargain before he could proceed with his. One, you would remove your smallclothes. Two, you would drink a sleeping draught—and the perfect concoction is now conveniently laid out before you.

He wanted you to know you could still change your mind—but no. You are sure of what you want, and you trust him completely.

You slip out of your smallclothes, kicking them aside as you make your way forward. You take the tiny bottle in your hands, twist off the lid, and swallow the works of it down. You settle into the plush comfort of your bed, and moments later, you drift into the world of your dreams.

+++

Sweet are your dreams of Astarion.

Foggy and fleeting though they begin, little details stick with you—the melodious rippling of his laughter, the heady scent of bergamot and rosemary, the feeling of cool skin against your heat in a spellbinding dance of ice and fire. Every one of your senses recalls all the happiest moments you have shared, envisions all the precious memories you have yet to create.

Whether it is a matter of minutes or hours, you are not sure—but, in time, the nebulous becomes lucid, the vague becomes vivid.

The picture so clear before you now is you. Your chest rises and falls with the gentle cadence of your breathing, your nipples peeking through the thin fabric of your nightgown. Your hemline hiked up high, your head atilt upon your pillow, your lovely neck ready for the taking. A vision delectable and divine.

Delectable… An imagining of yourself through Astarion’s eyes, then. How curious.

Your thoughts are no longer your own, but his, or at least what you fancy his to be. How pleased he would be to learn your dreams filled with love and longing inspired the warmth of your smile, how thrilled he would feel to feed upon your sleeping form, knowing how much the notion arouses you, how much of you you’re willing to let him take.

Astarion stalks towards the bed, eyes ever watching you, drinking in every detail of your alluring figure. He cannot deny how adorable you look in your frilly and feminine little dress, but, as he often reminds you, it’s your skin that suits you best. How he would love to strip you bare, have you nude beneath him, so sweet and soft and utterly helpless. The bed creaks when he joins you upon it, the mattress dipping as his knees settle on either side of you—he freezes, but then remembers having spotted the empty vial—he need not be too careful tonight.

You will sleep very, very well.

As for his other little suggestion… Gods, he must know. His hands venture under your skirt, and when he feels the skin there—silky, smooth, shamelessly bare—he grins.

Both your blood and your body will be his tonight.

Such a generous little thing you are, always eager to be seduced, to be used, to be conquered. What luck to have found such willing prey, a perfect vessel to fulfill the needs of his empty stomach and his already hardening cock. The steady rhythm of your pulse and the heat emanating from your skin only heighten his ravenous desire.

You can almost feel him at your neck.

A delicate touch. A gentle kiss. A sharp bite.

Astarion sinks his fangs deep into you, and your blood, so rich and so decadent, fills his hungry mouth, a heavenly reprieve from his eternal curse. The taste of you is pure perfection, an ambrosia more divine than the finest wines, more filling than the grandest feasts. It’s invigorating. Exhilarating. Arousing.

He gulps you down greedily, the temptation to drain you dry ever present, but his ardent need for you ever more consuming. Unaware as you are, your body still reacts, still shivers and shakes against him—not unlike how you shudder in ecstasy when he fucks you, your self-control hopelessly lost as you come undone in his arms. His lust for blood shifts into lust for you, every drop of you he drinks seemingly travelling right to his cock.

A feeling he wanted to fight, once. To physically crave anyone, even if instigated by the act of blood-drinking, was truly shocking. Beyond what he could handle, at first. He tried to ignore it. And then he couldn’t ignore it, stealing away to the woods, or to the privacy of his tent to play out his fantasies, chase the euphoria of release. Giving in to it when you would wake, sometimes even wanting you to wake so he could have you, take pleasure in you, empty himself inside you.

Now it is a feeling he has been learning to embrace.

And tonight with you—in you—he will embrace it fully.

Instinct guides his hands to grab at your gown, bunching its cloth into fistfuls and gathering its hem to your waist, exposing your gorgeous curves and your pretty little cunt. He dares run a finger along your entrance, so warm and, oh, so deliciously wet for him. A wonderful surprise to find you this receptive, this ready for his use. His cock aches to spring free, to indulge in your slick heat.

To fuck you like this, plunge into you hard and fast, eat up every last bit of you—the pleasure of it all would be immense—but your gifts to him are precious, something to be cherished, to be handled with care. As much as it is a challenge to maintain his control, to pull himself from your luscious neck, he does.

It helps to know the night will not end here. He readies himself for the delights yet to come, strips off his trousers and smallclothes, coaxes your legs apart with one hand as he strokes himself with the other.

To savour you will be so sweet.

Astarion rubs along your folds—a tease that so often has you begging for more—but now he is the impatient one. Your charming smile, your radiating warmth, your ready body, so slick with unconscious need, invites him in. The tip of his cock slips inside you and you welcome him with astonishing ease.

Pleasure—whether his or yours, you can’t quite tell—floods your mind, intensifying the otherworldly sensations of your dreamscape. The way he fills you, the way you surround him entrances you in equal measure, immersing you into a haze of languid euphoria as he gradually, gently works you open.

How cute that you cannot quite comprehend this. But, oh, you feel it, don’t you?

His thoughts again dominate yours as he buries his full length inside, relishing in how easily your body accommodates his size, how good it feels to pull away and push back into you. Gods, you look so beautiful and blissful in your oblivion. Still your body answers to his rhythm in ways subtle and sweet—a touch of colour on your cheeks, a slight quickening of your heart—but nothing gratifies him more than discovering the stirrings of pleasure swirling about your sleeping mind.

A conflict begins between his crumbling resolve to take his time and his growing urge to thrust into you mercilessly. He manages to compromise with a moderate pace and a thorough exploration of you, pressing in as deep as he is able while his hands roam across your skin. Your every curve and contour have long been mapped out in his mind, but still he touches you with a reverence befitting a first time.

How surreal it is to know this stunning, trusting, loving woman in his arms is all his. It still feels like a sweet dream from which he will one day wake.

But you are real—and you give yourself to him so freely.

Astarion continues to rock his hips against yours, moving faster now, taking full advantage of your kindly offering. You feel delicious wrapped around his cock like this, your body perfectly conforming to his shape. He does miss your adorable little moans—you have always been enthusiastically vocal for him in bed—but he must admit the endless creaking below and the wet slapping of his flesh meeting yours make for pleasing sounds in their absence.

Barely a second passes before a pretty noise escapes your open mouth—only a faint whimper, but it makes him throb with the feral need to fill you. You little minx. Even in your sleep you know just how to rile him. Well, if you are to tempt him with such provocative encouragement, then he has no choice but to fuck you harder.

He abandons all restraint in his haste towards the end, the pleasure tingling your slumbering mind enhancing his own. But, gods, what he would not give to feel all your delightful spasms and shudders as you shatter for him.

Maybe, just maybe…

You feel it. You have this whole time, really, but the waves of pleasure are far stronger than before. Each and every sensation amplified, pushed hard into your mind as he plunges hard into you. How much pleasure he takes in enjoying your body. How blissfully lost he is in his sweet addiction to you. How near he is to tumbling over the edge of ecstasy.

And he wants desperately to take you with him.

Euphoria wracks through him and through you. With a few final thrusts, Astarion pumps you full of his seed, your rhythmic pulses drawing every last drop deeper inside you.

He collapses, basking in afterglow, heart brimming with affection as he admires you. You are still sound asleep, oblivious to the waking world, that same cute little smile upon your pretty face.

Gods, could you be any more perfect?

Before he separates from your body and mind, before all fades to black, he plants a single kiss upon your soft lips, whispering one last message into your ear.

“Sweet dreams, darling.”

+++

Your eyes flicker open. You squint a little as you adjust to the shock of morning light streaming in through the crack of the open window, but you soon welcome your favourite sight: Astarion lying by your side. You are usually the type to grumble as you pull the covers over your head, chasing the often vain hope for another hour of sleep—but today you simply smile. Perhaps waking up every day next to a partner you adore just might yet make a morning person out of you.

He looks beautiful like this. Relaxed, content, transfixed on a book. He fails to notice your stare—or at least he pretends not to. Eventually you scooch closer, and at last he acknowledges you. “Good morning, my dear. I trust you… slept well?”

Something signals to you that this is not quite a normal greeting. Something you can’t quite pinpoint. He looks… exceptionally smug, even for him. He sounds… expectant, maybe?

You struggle to recall whatever it is you are supposed to know. But then you recognize the book in his hands as he slams it shut. And then you remember.

Oh, gods. Your racy novel. Your little fantasy. Your erotic dreams.

Your hand snaps to your neck, your fingers finding two distinctive punctures in your skin while he watches you with his fanged grin. He drank from you, that much is certain, but did he…? You reach your other hand to examine a far more intimate place.

Oh.

Oh.

“That,” you begin breathlessly, hazy recollections of your dreams returning to you piece by piece. “That was all real last night, wasn’t it?”

“If you are referring to the little show I gave you, then yes,” he confirms, his grin spreading wide. “Was it everything you ever wanted?”

His flirtatious drawl is full of bravado, as it always is, yet you think you can detect the tiniest hint of uncertainty behind it.

Oh, you will make sure you leave him with no doubt.

You practically pounce on him, smothering him with a flurry of little kisses. The way his laughter bubbles out of him makes your heart sing. “Shall I take that as a yes?”

“Of course,” you assure him. “And it’s like I’ve told you before. I trust you with my body.”

You plant a kiss on his forehead.

“My mind.”

And the tip of his nose.

“My heart.”

Both his cheeks.

“My everything.”

You press your lips to his, and the two of you melt into each other. Astarion holds you tight even as your lips break apart, a whispered “I love you,” filling the shell of your ear. You repeat the words back to him—and before you lavish him with the full extent of your affection you tell him only one more thing.

“You have given me the sweetest dreams I will ever have.”

+++ Thank you for reading!

If you enjoy my work, you can find more on my AO3. Additional cross posts for Tumblr and masterlist coming soon + more oneshots in the works! UPDATE: Here is the masterlist!

[fragiledewdrop]

WHERE NOW THE HORSE AND THE RIDER-Aka how I just had a Tolkien related freak out on the train

I can't believe what just happened to me. As in, it's such a weird chain of events that it has left me a little dizzy.

I was reading "Les Nourritures Terrestres" by Gide, and I got to a point he cites parts of a poem which I liked very much. The notes informed me that it's a French translation of "an 8th century saxon elegy called 'The Wanderer' "

That intrigued me, and, being on a train with a lot of time to pass (plus being a little tired of reading in French), I took out my phone and searched for the poem.

I found it here. It's the lament of a warrior in exile who has lost his lord and mourns the joy and glory of a world that has now disappeared. I was enjoying it a lot.

And then I got to this point:

And my mouth actually dropped open, because what?

Are you telling me that the Lament for the Rohirrim, one of my favourite poems in LOTR, which I learnt by heart at 13 and later took care to learn in the original English, which I sing when I do the dishes and which routinely makes me cry, is Tolkien's translation of an 8th century Saxon elegy?

Well, the notes at the end of the page confirmed it:

"Tolkien's rendition is hard to resist" I bet it is. I love that professional philologists add notes to their work saying "yeah, by the way, this bit here? It's in your favourite fantasy novel, and I am kinda jealous of how well it was translated, but it's Tolkien, the man spoke Old English, what can you do? Carry on, xoxo"

I mean, I had gathered that the Tolkien poem played on themes used in medieval literature, but I had no idea it was based on an actual, specific text. That makes it a hundred times cooler!

Maybe it's common knowledge, but it was a delicious tidbit of good news to me. Especially since I wasn't expecting it in the least, so I was blindsided by it.

Cherry on top? I had ignored the Old English text, since I don't understand it, but at the end I gave it a cursory read , and the line "Alas for the splendor of the prince"? "Eala þeodnes þrym!"

Now, I have never studied Old English, but I know roughly how to pronounce it (what kind of Silmarillion fan would I be if I didn’t recognize the thorn?). þeodnes has to be where "Theoden" comes from, right?

Apparently yes. I googled the "Lament for the Rohirrim", and Tolkien Gathaway has a nice little parapraph in which they explain all this. I don't know why I had never read it before, but it was a lot more fun learning it as an unexpected detour from my French practice, not gonna lie.

Bottom line: Tolkien was a both a nerd and a genius and continues to make my life brighter, and this is one of those moments in which I am very happy I have spent years of my life learning languages.

Thanks for coming to my impromptu TedTalk.

[mywitchyblog]

It has to be said

Let’s cut the bullshit. You can’t sit there and preach about how "wrong" it is for someone to shift into a BIPOC identity while you’re out here shifting into some "fictional" race and acting like it’s all good.

Newsflash, asshole: It’s the same damn thing. Shifting into any race—real or fictional—comes with its own set of cultural, historical, and ethical baggage. If you’re gonna throw shade at someone for exploring a BIPOC identity, then you better be ready to throw shade at yourself for shifting into that elf, Na’vi, or whatever the fuck else you’re fantasizing about.

Here’s the deal: Whether you’re shifting into a BIPOC identity to understand a different version of yourself or diving into some fantasy race that’s basically a watered-down version of real-world cultures, you’re engaging with the same concepts. The only difference is that one makes you uncomfortable because it’s closer to home. But if you think you can hide behind a “pretty pink bow” of fiction to justify your shifts, then you’re just fooling yourself.

You want some examples? Here they are:

1. The Na'vi from "Avatar": The Na'vi are a blatant allegory for Indigenous peoples who have been fucked over by colonization and cultural erasure. Their culture, spirituality, and even physical appearance are deeply inspired by various Indigenous cultures. Shifting into a Na'vi and then having the nerve to criticize someone for shifting into a BIPOC identity is straight-up hypocrisy. You’re enjoying the "noble savage" aesthetic while turning a blind eye to the real-world struggles that inspired this fictional race.

2. X-Men (Mutants): The mutants in the X-Men universe are a metaphor for marginalized groups, particularly racial minorities and the LGBTQ+ community. They experience discrimination, fear, and oppression, just like BIPOC people in the real world. Shifting into a mutant identity and then shitting on someone for exploring a BIPOC identity? That’s some next-level hypocritical bullshit. You’re playing out a power fantasy of fighting against oppression while ignoring the very real struggles that others are trying to explore and understand through their shifts.

3. Twi’leks and Other Star Wars Aliens: Twi’leks and other alien species in "Star Wars" often have exaggerated features that mirror ethnic stereotypes, and their treatment in the narrative often reflects colonial attitudes. Shifting into these aliens while criticizing someone for shifting into a different race is absurd. You’re embodying a fictional race that’s a clear stand-in for real-world marginalized groups while trying to police how others choose to explore their own identities.

4. The Fremen from "Dune": The Fremen are depicted as desert dwellers with a deep connection to their land and a fierce resistance to imperialism, drawing heavily from Middle Eastern and North African cultures. Shifting into this race while bashing someone for shifting into a BIPOC identity is a prime example of enjoying the exoticism of another culture without acknowledging its real-world significance.

2. Elves in Fantasy Literature: Elves are depicted with exaggerated European features—tall, slender, sharp, angular faces—basically the "Aryan" beauty ideal cranked up to eleven. The romanticization of these features, while totally ignoring their roots in racist purity movements, is downright disturbing.If you’re shifting into an elf while slamming someone for shifting into a BIPOC identity, you’re perpetuating a fucked-up double standard. You’re engaging in a fantasy that upholds white-centric beauty while denying someone else the right to explore a version of themselves that aligns with a BIPOC identity.

The real issue isn’t about whether it’s right or wrong to shift into a different race; it’s about the double standard you’re applying. If you think it’s okay to shift into some fantasy race but not a BIPOC identity, then you’re the one with the fucked-up priorities. Shifting is all about exploring different versions of yourself, whether that’s through race, species, or whatever. So, stop being a fucking hypocrite and either accept it all or shut the hell up.

Next time you wanna criticize someone for race shifting, take a look at your own damn shifts. If you’re doing the same thing under the guise of “fantasy,” then you’re just as guilty of the shit you’re trying to call out. Stop acting like one is more acceptable than the other. Either own your shit across the board or get off your high horse.

This kind of hypocrisy shows that you’re more comfortable with the idea of exploring different identities when they’re wrapped in a "pretty pink bow" of fiction, but you balk at the idea of someone exploring the full spectrum of human experience, including the struggles and strengths that come with being BIPOC.

No more excuses. It’s time to face the reality of what you’re doing and start thinking critically about the implications of your shifts. Stop hiding behind the fantasy and start acknowledging the real-world context of the identities you’re exploring.

[angxlwritez]

Stolen Heart

➳♡゛PAIRING: Bandit/Outlaw!Geto x Princess!F!Reader

➳♡゛SUMMARY: As a princess you've been forced to marry as your fate has already been decided for you. That's until you fall in love with a mysterious stranger, leaving you to decide on if you should follow that fate or let your heart decide.

➳♡゛WARNINGS: Mentions of arranged marriage, Fantasy AU, Angst (if you squint), 2 Smut scenes (MDNI), Fluff, Oral (F Receiving), P in V , Kissing, Nipple Play, Explicit Language, Creampie, Forbidden Love, Fingering, Female Reader, Unprotected Sex. (Word Count: 5.5K).

➳♡゛A/N: This is my entry for @junevenile The Renaissance Cabaret Collab. Italics & Bold is Past tense.

The brightness of the early morning sun shone through Y/N’s chamber as she sat at her golden vanity table, her attendant assisting her with the last of her morning routine.

She’d insist that she could get herself ready on her own, as she was no longer a child anymore but her mother’s words would continuously run through her head about how improper of a lady, especially of a princess that would be.

The constant reminder that she was a princess was constantly brought up, it was something she wanted to escape, but she knew better as she’d have important duties to fulfill.

One of those important duties would include an arranged marriage, set by her parents. Y/N would marry some king or prince, specifically to gain whatever benefits both parties would give each other even if it was to some old man, her words and choices meant nothing to them and there was nothing that she could do about it.

Y/N would continuously go about it without a second thought, but that would be until she met her secret lover.

It's funny how the two met, Y/N had caught him sneaking around the palace grounds. She remembered as if it was just yesterday as the two would constantly make jokes about it.

As she was still being assisted her mind drifted off to the exact moment of when the two had met:

“May I ask why you are sneaking about?” Y/N’s head remained down as she continued to pretend to read whatever literature she had at the time, as a small smirk played against her lips.

The mysterious raven-haired stranger slowly crept out from behind the overly large bushes. As he gave her somewhat of a mocking bow, “It seems as though I’ve been caught.” He spoke as he slowly looked at her.

A playful smile flashed on her lips as she rose her head to look at him, “I guess you're not as slick as you thought. Now, I'm sure I asked you a question.”

“Princess! Princess!” A voice called out to her as she looked in the direction of where it was coming from.

Y/N’s eyes widened in panic as she looked back at the man, a hushed “Follow me,” being said as she stood up to quickly lead the way.

The man stood for a brief moment before speaking, “Are you sure that’s wise Princess?” he questioned, a slight lace of arrogance coating his tone.

She quickly grabbed his hand to lead him away, “I’m sure you don’t want to get caught. Just follow me quickly,”

As she continued to  lead to make sure she was far enough, she’d stop, catching her breath as she turned to face him.

“You didn’t answer my question earlier. And don't lie I know most of my people here,” she spoke, her voice low and sultry leaning in closer to him, a sly grin on her lips.

He looked at her, his eyes narrowed slightly as he realized what she was asking him. “Are you asking me why I’m sneaking around your palace?” he asked.

She nodded slowly, as her eyes fixed on his. “I’m a bandit,” he said, the words falling from his lips like a confession.

Y/N’s heart raced at his words, her mind racing with possibilities. She knew that she should be afraid, that she should turn him over to the guards, but there was something about him that called to her. Something wild and untamed that she couldn’t resist.

“It’s dangerous to be around me,” he warned, as his voice lowered.

She stepped even closer to the man as another playful smirk crept on her lips again, “And what makes you think I can't call my guards?” she teased.

The raven-haired stranger chuckled, “Because Princess. I know that you won’t. I believe that you're intrigued by me,” he replied, his eyes flickering with a mischievous glint.

The woman couldn't deny the truth in his words, as her attraction to him only grew stronger with each passing moment.

As she continued to reminisce lost in her thoughts, her attendant finished the last touches to her makeup, a knock interrupted the silence of the room bringing her back to reality.

“Enter,” Y/N called out, her eyes meeting the reflection of her other attendant in the mirror.

"My lady, we must prepare for the arrival of your royal family." The individual said announcing the news.

Y/N sighed knowing that she would have to put up a front again, pretending to be content with the idea of her arranged marriage. But deep down, she knew that she could never love anyone as much as she loved the raven-haired bandit who had stolen her heart.

The sound of trumpets announcing the arrival of her parents was what snapped her out of her thoughts once more.

As they entered the room, her father wore a proud smile and her mother looked as regal as ever.

Y/N curtsied as they approached, greeting them respectfully. Her father took her hands in his as he spoke, “My darling daughter, I am pleased to announce that we have found you a suitor. He is a prince who will soon be king from a neighboring kingdom and your mother and I believe him to be worthy of your hand in marriage.”

Though it pained Y/N to keep up her appearance, she tried to smile and appear happy for their sake. Inside, however, she couldn't help but think back on the man who she’d fallen in love so easily with.

But as the words fully sunk in, her heart shattered and tears threatened to fall from her eyes. She continued to force a smile onto her face, not wanting to disappoint her parents by showing them her true feelings.

“I am honored to accept your decision father," she said, grateful that they didn't notice the quiver in her voice.

She could feel the weight of disappointment on her shoulders as she looked away for a mere second, taking in a deep breath before turning back to face them.

Her parents nodded approvingly at her show of obedience and continued speaking about the wedding plans before leading Y/N out of the room.

Once she left to head back to her quarters, her fingers played with the hidden small gold necklace that was given to her by Geto. Just a little after they met when they both confessed their love to each other; the necklace was a heart that had his initials on it. A simple symbol to show that she was his and that he’d always be with her in every passing moment.

It was moments like these where she needed him most.

(Y/N) hadn't told him about the arranged marriage her parents were planning on setting for her. Yet, she knew that she would have to tell him sooner than later.

She suspected that he would have known as word travelled fast around the kingdom but she still wanted him to hear the news from her himself. She was expected to be married within a few days now that a suitor was found, and she was not looking forward to it.

Tonight, the palace was holding a ball to celebrate her soon-to-be marriage and Y/N felt sick to her stomach as she knew her time was near, she wanted to cry but she blinked them away quickly as she continued to plaster the fake smile on her lips.

“My lady, are you alright?” the woman who was helping her stopped what she was doing as a genuine look of concern was on her face.

Y/N nodded her head, trying to mask the sadness that was overwhelming her. "Yes, I'm fine. Just a bit tired," she responded, forcing a smile onto her face. "But thank you for asking."

The attendant started to say something else before being interrupted by a knock on the door. "Excuse me, my lady," another spoke as they entered the room. "Your presence is needed downstairs for the ball."

Y/N took a deep breath, straightening her posture as she stood up from the vanity. She made her way to the door, taking one last glance at her reflection in the mirror before exiting the room again.

As soon as she reached the bottom of the grand staircase, the music started and she was greeted by a sea of guests. The room was filled with nobles and royals alike, all dressed in their finest attire.

Y/N inwardly groaned at the thought of having to socialize with these people, putting on a smile.

As she walked around the ballroom, most of the guests bowed to acknowledge her, some of them even letting out a few compliments about her grace and beauty. 

Continuing to greet the guests and make small talk her thoughts kept drifting to Geto and the imminent wedding. She couldn't imagine spending the rest of her life with someone she didn't love even though she knew she had to.

A gloved hand then reached out to her, signaling that someone wished to dance with her. Y/N looked up, her gaze meeting the eyes of the prince who was betrothed to her. She plastered a smile on her face as he took her hand, pulling her close to him as the music started.

"I must say, you look quite lovely tonight," he said.

Y/N forced a smile, trying to be polite. "Thank you, your highness," she replied, her mind elsewhere.

The prince continued to make small talk, but Y/N couldn't focus on his words. All she could think about was Geto, and how much she wished he was here with her instead. She wanted to disappear, to be anywhere other than in this ballroom with this man she barely knew.

As the dance ended, the prince bowed to her, kissing her hand gently. "I look forward to our wedding day in the next few days, Princess," he said before walking away.

Y/N felt a bit sick at the prince's words, knowing that she should be grateful for the union her parents had arranged for her. But her heart belonged to someone else. This was not the life she wanted, but she had no choice. She had to marry the prince and accept her fate as a wife and soon to be queen.

Walking around the ballroom, trying to avoid any more dances with the prince, she spotted a familiar figure lurking in the shadows. It was Geto, dressed in black and wearing a mask to conceal his identity.

He caught her eye and nodded, signaling her to meet him outside. Y/N knew it was risky, but she couldn't resist the temptation. Her heart was racing as she made her way through the crowd, trying to avoid the watchful eye of her parents.

Catching the attention of one of her attendants she spoke, "Please let the Queen know I'm not feeling too well and must step away for a bit."

The attendant nodded and Y/N continued walking, feeling the weight of her dress slowing her down. She stepped outside into the moonlit courtyard where Geto was waiting for her.

"Geto," she whispered as she wrapped her arms around him, holding on tightly. "What are you doing here?" she whispered, trying to hide the excitement in her voice.

"I couldn't stay away. I had to see you," he replied, his voice soft and gentle. "I heard about the wedding. Is it true?"

Y/N nodded slowly, her heart heavy with the thought of being forced to marry someone she didn't love. "Yes. My parents have found a suitor for me. It'll be in the next few days. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

"I can't stand the thought of you marrying him," Geto said as he pulled away, his eyes blazing with intensity. "I'll take you away from all of this."

Y/N's heart swelled at the thought, but she knew that it was impossible. "I can't do that, Geto," she said, her voice laced with regret. "I'm a princess, and I have a duty to my kingdom and my people. I can't abandon them like that."

"But what about us?" Geto asked, his expression pained. "Don't we mean anything to you?"

Y/N's heart ached at his words, and she took a step closer to him, taking his hand in hers. "Of course, you mean everything to me, you mean more than I could ever put into words" she whispered. "But I must accept my fate as a princess and marry the prince."

"Forget your fate Y/N. Can't you see? This isn't what you want. You deserve to be with someone who loves you and doesn't use you as a political pawn. Someone who will cherish you and make you happy," Geto insisted, his eyes never leaving hers.

Y/N's resolve wavered as she looked into his intense gaze continuing to listen to him speak.

"I love you too much to let you go Y/N, especially like this. Can't you see that you mean everything to me? You're the air I breathe, the water I drink, the food I eat, my heart that beats, you're everything that I need and I can't just go on without," Geto confessed, his voice rough with emotion as he pulled her into a tight embrace.

Y/N melted in his arms, feeling the heat of his body against hers. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, inhaling his scent.

Their lips came crashing together, fire igniting between them as they kissed passionately under the moonlight. Geto's hands ran down her back, pressing her tightly against him as she moaned into his mouth.

“There's someplace I want to show you," Geto said as he broke away from the kiss. His eyes sparkled mischievously as he took her hand, leading her to the stables. "I promise you it'll be worth it."

He helped her on the back of his horse, before jumping on himself. Y/N wrapped her arms around him tightly, as they sped off into the forest.

They traveled for a few hours until they reached a small hidden cottage, and Y/N gasped at the sight of it. It was quite small from the outside but nestled on top of a hill in the middle of a forest. A light coming from inside drew them to the door where Geto dismounted, walking over to open it.

Once inside, Y/N marveled at the picturesque landscape that laid out before her. Warm light from flickering candles adorned the walls of the spacious room, mixing with the amber glow of the fire that was spreading through the hearth. There was a large bed in the middle of the room, covered with furs, and it was the most beautiful thing Y/N had ever seen.

"Do you like it?" Geto asked as he moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her to embrace her tightly against his chest.

"It's amazing," she whispered under her breath. "It's like a fairytale. How did you find it?" she asked, a smile playing on her lips as she relaxed into the embrace, enjoying the feeling of security that was spreading through her at his touch.

"I've been coming here for years," Geto explained. "I knew I had to take you here one day and today seemed to be the day."

He kissed softly at the spot below her earlobe as Y/N leaned her head against his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh of pleasure.

She felt the warmth flooding through her body as they slowly moved toward the bed in the center of the room. They laid down on the bed, slowly peeling away layers of clothing until their bodies were bare and intertwined with one another.

"I love you," Y/N whispered, her voice laced with fear and longing. "You're my everything."

Geto leaned down, his lips kissing softly against hers, his arms wrapping around her to pull her closer to him. As he kissed her passionately, pulling her atop him in their kiss, Y/N felt herself yield to him. He was everything she ever wanted, and she didn't want to deny it anymore.

As she broke away from the kiss, her hands threaded in his hair as she stared down into his eyes. His hand roamed down her body, leaving a trail of burning desire on her skin everywhere it touched. He rolled over on top of her, his lips meeting hers again.

"I love you Y/N," Geto replied before silencing any further words with his lips.

As he kissed her, his hands roamed everywhere, caressing every inch of her until she was writhing beneath him. He smiled against her lips before he trailed kisses down her body. Nibbling at her skin, kissing every inch until she begged for him to continue.

Their hands continued to explore each other's body, as they took their time learning every curve of one another. He leaned down to kiss her neck, sucking hard on the soft flesh as Y/N arched her back to give him more access to her skin once more.

Forming a line with his kisses, he moved further down along the curves of her breasts. His lips latched onto her hardened nipple as she gasped, feeling the wet warmth spreading through her body as he continued pleasuring her with his mouth.

Licking her breasts down along her stomach, he gently spread her legs apart, taking a moment to admire her before continuing.

She could feel him smirking against her skin, knowing full well what he was about to do as he kissed wetly against her thighs.

He teased her entrance with the tip of his tongue, running it up and down before pressing it against her clit, making her moan out loudly, grabbing onto the sheets as pleasure coursed through her body. His tongue slowly spread her pussy lips before moving inside her, licking deep inside building up to a steady rhythm as she grinded against his face, groaning at the feeling of his tongue slithering inside of her.

Geto removed his mouth from her pussy to trail kisses up her body, dipping down to taste the sweetness of her mouth before hooking his arms under her thighs, lifting them onto his shoulders as he rose to then kneel between her legs.

Y/N felt the tip of his cock prodding at her wet entrance before he began pushing inside. He continued pushing until he was fully inside her hot, throbbing pussy, taking a moment to adjust as he continued to thrust in and out without pause.

"Oh, Geto!" Y/N moaned as she felt him thrust inside of her again.

"Fuck!"Geto groaned against her neck as he began increasing his speed and Y/N moaned louder with each thrust of his cock. He wrapped his arms around her waist lightly and held onto it tightly, rolling his hips against hers.

"Oh god," Y/N moaned emphatically as Geto spread his legs further, resting her back against his strong torso. She wrapped her legs around his hips as they continued to move against one another.

She leaned her head back against his shoulder, moaning loudly as he fucked her senselessly. "Geto!"she cried as she dug her fingers into his back.

Letting out another groan, Geto's hands reached between them and pressed firmly against her clit as he continued thrusting.

Geto grunted as he pulled her hips closer to his cock, grinding against her as he neared his release.

Y/N let out a scream of pleasure, feeling the current orgasm run through her body as Geto continued to pound into her. He removed his hand from between their bodies, pressing it against her shoulder, pushing down on it as he filled her pussy with his warm cum.

Still breathing heavily, Geto leaned against her momentarily before rolling off of Y/N and onto his side. She turned to face him, a smile on her lips as she looked into the eyes of the man she loved so much. He smiled back at her sweetly before leaning in to kiss her gently one last time.

"You know this doesn't make any of it easier, right?" he said softly as he trailed his fingers lazily over her stomach.

Y/N smiled sadly, shaking her head. "I know," She said quietly.

They both fell into a quiet silence as they stared at one another, never taking their eyes away from the other.

"Don't walk out of my life, Y/N," Geto begged in a soft voice before standing up to get off the bed, his eyes pleading with hers. "We'll figure it out, I promise."

Y/N gave him a bittersweet smile as she stood up, and lazily slipped back into her dress. "You should probably take me back home. They'll notice I'm gone."

Without another word, the man nodded his head as they mounted the horse and took off towards the castle.

The ride was silent, as neither wanted to break the stillness that surrounded them.

As they arrived at Y/N's destination Geto pulled the horse to a stop and helped her off, giving her an intense look as he brushed his lips softly against hers in a tender kiss goodbye and handed her one of his handkerchiefs as a token from him for her to remember him as she held onto it with both hands.

"Take care of yourself. I hope he treats you well," he whispered as he watched Y/N enter back through the castle doors and disappear within its walls, leaving him alone once more in the silence and darkness outside.

The days of her wedding were quickly approaching and all the woman could do was pray for a miracle, pray that Geto would show up and save her from this fate.

If he did, she was sure they could find some way to be together no matter what obstacles laid in their path; however, deep down she knew the chances of it happening were slim especially after she'd pushed him away.

Regardless she continued to set out to the gardens daily, hoping that one day it would be him who showed up to come and take her away. Constant regret falling over her for denying to run away with him.

As the night before her wedding quickly approached, alone in her room, she stared out of the window towards the crescent moon as she held her hand against her chest, clutching the handkerchief Geto had given her as if it meant the world to her.

Her mind filled with thoughts of him and how much she was willing to give up just to be with him.

She thought that she could go through with the arranged marriage but the few days the two of them spent apart just didn't feel right, as she loved him too much to just let him go.

As she secretly headed out to the gardens she felt tears fill her eyes as the reality that she may never be able to be with the man she loved all too much began to hit.

It was then when she had almost given up on her search, that a figure emerged between the dense trees. She looked closer and saw Geto walking towards her. He ran to meet her and he opened his arms wide for an embrace.

Y/N felt the warmth of him surrounding her like a blanket and tears rolled down from both their eyes as they embraced each other tightly, nothing else mattered except them being together now in that moment.

They held onto one another tightly for what seemed like forever until she finally released herself from him just enough so that they could look into each other’s eyes.

"I'm here Y/N. I can't let you go through with the wedding tomorrow, as selfish as it sounds I just can't let you," he soothed as he held her close to his chest, loving feeling her in his arms again. He pressed his lips against her head as they both held onto one another tightly.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes glistening with tears, and knew that no matter what trials they may face in the future they were made to be together.

Taking his hand within hers, she smiled "Take me away from here. I don't want to be with anybody else but you."

Geto smiled and gave her hand a gentle squeeze, pulling her close to him and kissing her softly on the lips as they both disappeared from the gardens and into the night leaving the castle behind.

The journey back to Geto's hidden cottage was filled with happy tears and gentle caresses as the two traveled together, taking in every moment they had been given.

As the sky gradually changed shades from a deep royal purple to a faint orange hue, indicating the dawn of morning, Y/N and Geto arrived at their destination.

Geto helped Y/N off his horse before lifting her face so that she could look into his eyes one last time before leading her inside where he suddenly dropped down on one knee and took both her hands into his own looking deeply into them, never breaking eye contact.

"Y/N," he started tenderly wiping away all remaining tears with his thumb on each cheek. "You are my entire world and my reason for living  I can't exist without you by my side." Taking a pause until finally gathering enough strength to give her the words she had long been waiting to hear.

"Will you make me the happiest man on earth and marry me?" he asked as he opened up a small charmed box revealing a simple but beautiful three-stone diamond ring.

Y/N felt her heartbeat quicken at the display of Geto's constant affection and love for her as she melted in his strong arms. She looked into his eyes, admiring him as she nodded her head softly and whispered a simple "yes."

"I'll be right back, don't go anywhere," Geto replied kissing her softly on the lips before he turned and ran out to get the things they would need to clean themselves up after their long journey.

Y/N stood alone in the cottage's living room as she stared into the lit fireplace, admiring the beautiful ring on her finger. She was finally free and she could finally be with him. She smiled brightly as she heard Geto entering back into the cabin carrying a tray of water and clothes to clean themselves up.

"I'm back," he said smiling brightly at her before setting the tray down on the table in front of them. "Here is everything we'll need to get cleaned up."

Y/N watched as he stripped some off his clothes as she nodded happily. Watching while Geto began to wash off all his dirtied and sweat-covered skin next to her, after a while he leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Why don't you take off that wet dress and join me?"

Y/N giggled softly as she began to strip down, peeling off her soaked dress before stripping off the thin undergarments. At the sight of her, he couldn't keep his eyes off her.

A warmth filled her cheeks as she looked away, feeling timid with his undivided attention; however, Geto just smiled and pulled her towards him softly caressing the side of her face.

"Don't be shy," he whispered before leaning down and kissing her passionately against her warm lips.

Wrapped up within one another's embrace both Geto and Y/N shared a sweet tender kiss as they enjoyed each others' taste, basking in the moment. Her hands traveled up his toned chest and arms savoring each inch of his perfectly sculpted figure as their bodies moved towards the bed.

Geto kissed her gently down her neck and collarbone, causing Y/N to gasp in pleasure as he softly caressed her body before climbing back up near her neck, as steamy moans escaped their lips, tickling her ear with his hot breath.

Geto smiled against her neck having looked down at the beautiful woman beneath him.

"I'm glad I can finally be with you," he whispered before leaning back down to capture her lips again in another kiss, speaking all the words that could never come out of his mouth in such a heated moment.

Y/N smiled against his lips before wrapping her arms around him tightly, enjoying their passionate embrace as they slowly moved against each other in a rhythm. Geto softly kissed along Y/N's jaw causing her to moan out in pleasure as she arched into him further.

Geto slowly moved his hands around Y/N's body as his thumb brushed softly against her most sensitive spots. Her body quivered and trembled in pleasure as Geto increased the heat between them. "You're so perfect Y/N," he murmured against her lips before his lips descended the valley between her breasts.

As he lowered his lips and captured her left nipple in between his lips causing it to harden the sudden touch before beginning to suck on it, he gently gripped it between his thumb and index finger while he swirled his tongue all around in circles causing her to reach out and hold onto his hair, arching her back in pleasure; “Geto” she cried out as he worked on every part of her breasts, leaving love marks in a few areas.

He loved how she was so forward and intoxicating with desire. It thrilled him even further that she finally belonged to him, his princess.

"Geto.." she moaned out softly ripping the hair tie off in his hair as she felt the heat between her legs intensify. "I need you."

Hearing her shamelessly say out her need for him excited him even more as he felt his cock begin to stiffen and throb painfully against the last of his clothing, begging to be set free.

He took her hand into his own and she groaned softly when she felt the heat from his hand rub against her wetness.

Her sweet moans of pleasure echoed through the room as his fingers explored and gently rubbed against her clit. He quickly found a steady rhythm that caused her body to change from a soft tremble to a loud shudder every time he pressed against the right spot.

Y/N felt an unbearable heat rise through her veins as Geto climbed on top of her and leaned in close to her ear, "Are you ready?"

"Yes," she replied softly rolling back and forth against him as she felt his throbbing erection press against her entrance ever so slightly making it hard for either of them to control themselves.

"You feel so amazing..." Geto moaned out as he grasped her rear firmly in his hands grasping her tightly against him, their bodies fitting perfectly together, he was right where he longed to be.

"Geto," Y/N whimpered as his breath tickled against her skin.

She was so wet and ready for him, she needed to feel his weight press down on top of her and have him inside of her even more than before.

Geto continued to rub against her clit before gently sinking into her inch by inch on the first thrust. The lips of Y/N's inner walls eagerly accepted him making it harder for either of them to keep going slow, as thrust after thrust each spike of pleasure coursed through Y/N's rapidly beating heart making each nerve ending in her body pulse with intensity.

"Look at me," Geto said looking deeply into Y/N's eyes, as he slowly began to thrust into her with long hard strokes fast enough to bring her right to the edge.

"Oh God!" she moaned out arching her back as one arm flung tightly against Geto’s torso while the other found its way up in his hair.

Her cries of pleasure echoed throughout the room as her eyes rolled in the back of her head, feeling each stroke of Geto's cock annihilate any coherent thoughts she had left. 

Geto passionately kissed against her neck touching tenderly as she slowly slid down from her high enjoying every ounce of pleasure his body could give her.

His hand traveled to her thigh, grabbing it tightly allowing him to pick up the pace of his thrusts on a few occasions.

Y/N whimpered as she felt her body stiffen and quiver underneath her lover again, Geto's cock found new flesh to pierce causing her pleasure to spike high and so close to reach it's peak.

She gasped loudly, covering Geto's mouth with hers and brushing her knuckles against his cheeks before feeling the waves of pleasure slowly begin to crash down onto herself. Her body exploding with ecstasy as she heard him groan out and release into her.

They both laid there silently after their orgasm, Y/N suddenly smiled softly staring into Geto's eyes as he held her close. "I love you."

The man smiled at the sweet words as he kissed the top of her head softly, "I love you too." He whispered back before wrapping his arms around her tight and pulling her close to his chest. "Now go to sleep we've got a long journey ahead of us tomorrow."

She nodded, and leaned her head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heart beating as they drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Taglist: @astrasolitaris @enchantedforest-network

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[albertstrustie]

Hey, everyone. This is my first time posting something that isn’t just an extract, but I feel like this is something I need to talk about.

Given the current political climate, I’ve found myself immersed in a frustrating debate about whether books are political. Honestly, I never expected to see such a discussion on platforms like BookTok, but here we are. And unsurprisingly, it seems most of these creators having this debate are based in the U.S.—which, given the results of the recent elections, kind of makes sense.

What truly breaks my heart—and challenges my understanding—is that there are people who sincerely believe books should remain apolitical. This belief persists even as one of the most pressing concerns about the recently elected president is his endorsement of policies that could lead to widespread book bans, especially those addressing sensitive topics like race, gender, and history.

Here’s the truth: books are inherently political. The right to read them, own them, and write them has always been deeply tied to power and control. Governments throughout history have used book bans and censorship as tools to erase history, suppress dissent, and manipulate society. Pretending otherwise is, frankly, a privilege. And in the same way, it’s a privilege to be able to write freely or access literature without fear.

To accept this reality is not just to understand the power of books but to respect their role in shaping and challenging our world. Stories carry the weight of culture, resistance, and transformation. To say that books shouldn’t be discussed in a political context is to ignore that power—and to risk losing it.

Let’s not forget: banning books is never just about the books themselves. It’s about silencing voices, erasing perspectives, and controlling what people are allowed to know. To me, the idea of a book being “non-political” is impossible. Every story exists within a context, and that context shapes how we see the world—whether we’re reading a dystopian novel, a historical biography, or even a fantasy epic.

With that being said, this is a quote that deeply resonated with me over the past year:

“those who burn books will in the end burn people.” - Heinrich Heine

[bardic-tales]

Tumblr Games: OC Prompts: Profile: Mordecai Delacroix

Thank you so much for the tag, @inkednotebook. I loved Teddy's appearance and his goals in yours.

Rules: Answer the prompts for an OC

I choose to fill this out for my newest OC, Mordecai Delacroix, my incubus who fought against Asmodeus to save his wife and lost. Mordecai plays an important role in Fantasy Worlds Collide, as it shows that demons can resist the call of a primordial demon, like Asmodeus.

Matt Bomer is Mordecai's face claim

Full name: Mordecai Alessio Delacroix (formerly Atticus)

Age: Over 2,000 years

Gender: Male

Species: Vampiric Incubi

Appearance: Mordecai is 6'1" (185 cm) with a lean, muscular build. His skin is often pale with nearly trimmed dark brown hair. He has very sharp facial features, including a chisled jawline and piercing grey eyes. His eyes turn blood-red when he is anger or he is feeding. He likes to wear tailored suits in very dark colors.

Occupation: CEO of Dark Light Publishing, a publishing house that caters to supernatural beings, such as he.

Family Members:

Spouse/Partner: Bianca Moore (wife)

Parents: Unknown Roman parents

Siblings: None known

Demonic “Father”: Asmodeus (not biological but influential)

Best Friends:

Lucian Grey: An ancient vampire who works as Mordecai's right-hand man at the publishing company. He’s a bit of a trickster and the only person who dares to challenge Mordecai's serious nature.

Isabella Tremaine: An old lover who specializes in magical artifacts and occult research. Mordecai relies on her expertise in supernatural matters and considers her one of the few people he can trust, outside of Bianca and Lucian.

Pets: None. He prefers a minimalist lifestyle and hates the idea of owning pets.

Describing their bedroom: His bedroom is spacious and uncluttered. He has a king-sized bed draped in black satin sheets. A black marble fireplace stands across the bed. Next to it is a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf filled with ancient texts and modern literature. A sleek desk sits in one corner with a laptop and a few scattered papers. His walk-in closet is organized by color and occasion: featuring mostly suits and former wear. There is few personal items, save for a framed portrait of a night date to the coast with Bianca.

Way of speaking: Mordecai speaks with a refined, aristocratic tone. His speech is deliberate. He very rarely raises his voice, as he doesn't need to. He will occasionally use archaic phrases. When agitated, his accent subtly shifts, revealing his ancient Roman roots.

Physical characteristics: Beyond what is already mentioned, he has no visible scars. He has demonic healing abilities like Bianca. His nails are kept short, but occasionally grow into sharp claws when his demonic nature is triggered.

Items in their bag/purse: Mordecai doesn’t typically carry a bag, as he prefers to carry briefcases. If he does, it would contain:

a leather-bound journal for note-taking

a small vial of Bianca's blood for emergencies

the latest iphone.

ancient coins to remind him of who he really is

Hobbies: Mordecai enjoys fencing, historical research, martial arts, reading, and playing the piano. He likes to manage his publishing company, finding comfort through history and literature. In his free time, he is often honing his swordsmanship or reading obscure occult texts by Aleister Crowley and the Ordo Templi Orientis.

Favorite Sport: Mordecai is not a fan of modern sports, like hockey or football, but he has an interest in fencing.

Abilities: As he is a demon, he has enhances strength, speed, and healing. He also has an enhanced scent of smell, as do all demons. As an incubus, he can manipulate emotions and desires. He avoids using his incubus powers, due to his grief. He is also well-versed in ancient languages, rituals, and supernatural lore. Mordecai is probably the person who knows Asmodeus the best, as he has dedicated his life to finding a way to destroy the demonic prince once and for all.

Relationships:

Bianca Moore: His wife, whom he deeply loves and protects. Their bond is built on mutual respect and shared trauma. He never consummated the marriage, respecting Bianca’s boundaries.

Asmodeus: A figure from his past who turned him into a vampiric incubus and serves as a constant threat.

Lucian Grey: His right-hand man at Dark Light Publishing and a trusted confidant. Their relationship is founded on centuries of camaraderie and shared struggles.

Fears:

He is terrified that he won't be able to protect Bianca from Asmodeus or even his own dark nature. He had already murdered his mirrored soul when he was first turned, as he had no control over his powers.

Despite his centuries of discipline, he is haunted by the fear of losing control and harming someone he loves by his bloodlust, as he did centuries ago.

He is fearful of fire as it reminds him of his transformation. He is very uneasy around flames.

Faults:

Mordecai has an overwhelming sense of guilt which often prevents him from moving forward. He is afraid that if he becomes entangled with someone he will harm them. However, meeting Bianca, Asmodeus' biological daughter and his tool for ascension, shook up his life.

He keeps others at arm's lengths to avoid causing them harm or facing his own emotions

He prefers to handle problems himself, leading to difficulty in delegating tasks or trusting others.

Good points:

Although he is distant, he is fiercely protective of those he cares about. This is illustrated when he sacrificed himself for Bianca's well-being.

Due to his love of history and literature, Mordecai is very well-read and resourceful.

Despite his internal struggles and who he currently is, he continues to be a bastion of light against Asmodeus' darkness. He will never allow the demonic lord to take Bianca and her soul.

What they want more than anything else: Mordecai desires redemption and to rid the world of Asmodeus and the other demons' influences. His ultimate wish is to ensure Bianca's safety and happiness, even if it means that he will have to sacrifice himself and send her to another dimension.

[pallisia]

Is there any popular writing advice that you disagree with or just hasn't ever worked for you?

i've joked about this a little bit, but i am resistant to the "soft/hard magic" dichotomy popularized by a certain fantasy writer. whenever i see "how to write magic" guides that take this approach, it's literally always "hard magic is fma and soft magic is lotr," with the latter being the only successful example in fantasy literature to exist, because soft magic is unbalanced, and you don't want to write deus ex machina do you?? this comes down to personal taste, but i think over-explaining magic sucks the fun out of it. i don't care that it's "logical" if it's boring. but some fantasy novelists are just science perverts, and more power to them as long as they can tell an interesting story to go with it.

[puddinginthemix]

Since I finished watching The Terror I've been thinking about "The Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell to The Terror Pipeline" (cf. Tumblr user pudentilla). I came to the show because a number of people I followed for JSAMN posts were also posting about The Terror, and naturally I was like, dudes on ships looking very cold and rather gay, what is this. Of course, I liked it immediately, but the reason for the "pipeline" still seemed fuzzy.

I joined this conversation about Tuunbaq's role in the story--how The Terror would still be a great show without the demon bear, but his presence definitely adds a certain whatsit--but things didn't really crystallize for me until I was reading an article that discussed speculative fiction as a form of resistance to the Western, colonialist, capitalist, masculinist model of literature that is often unfortunately dubbed "realist" fiction.

It would be easy to write The Terror as a "realist" narrative about the doomed Franklin expedition. All you do is take out Tuunbaq. It would still be excellent. And yet Tuunbaq--the entity that turns the story into speculative fiction--is the force that overwhelms the entire Western, colonialist, capitalist, masculinist enterprise.

I was fascinated by the end of Mr. Hickey: on the one hand, he appears to reject his native culture in favor of reinventing himself as a wild cannibal shaman of the frozen north. On the other hand, everything about what Hickey wants/tries to do is colonialist, exploitative, and driven by the urge to dominate. He fantasizes that he's connecting with Tuunbaq, but he doesn't understand it at all. And then it eats his face.

That was the fantasy moment that made me think ohhhh, what a beautiful connection. Magic in Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell is always and forever the enemy of colonialist, capitalist, masculinist domination. Lots of other people have blogged about this (recently @fluentisonus, good stuff), and I won't rehash that in detail here. But in JSAMN, magic puts itself into the hands of a Black man, servants, women, people who reject conquest and domination as a way of living. It rescues and sustains those people (like Tuunbaq brings Silna a nice fat seal). But those who would use it to dominate others, it utterly crushes.

tl;dr: 1) The Terror isn't The Terror without Tuunbaq; 2) I rode the JSAMN to The Terror Pipeline and I think I get it now

[saintsenara]

I’m curious why you loathe the implication that wizards are immune to muggle diseases. Is it because it reinforces the idea that they aren’t really the same species as muggles?

thank you very much for the ask, @urupotter!

and the answer is - yes, pretty much.

how the body is understood, how illness and disability are thought about, how the medical system works etc. are all questions that i am primed to obsess over in any piece of media - even when they're not actually significant parts of the story.

which is to say, i completely understand the reason why the harry potter series treats these topics in the way it does. magical medicine isn't one of the themes the story is designed to focus on - which means that its purpose is as incidental worldbuilding detail which reinforces the whimsical vibe of the earlier books and the darker vibe of the later ones, and which means that its treatment in the text makes sense within the setting and genre conventions of canon. harry being able to take a bludger - a cast-iron cannonball moving at speed - to the head and living to tell the tale is the same as john wick being able to fall from a great height, land on his back, and then get up and walk around: he's an action hero in a fantasy.

and so wizards being more physically durable than muggles - and also wizards having their own magical diseases, and being immune to muggle ones - all makes sense within the context of the books as literature. kids don't want to read about harry having a cold. they want to read about him being a wizard.

but when i'm deciding to enjoy myself by taking the question of just how fucked-up wizarding society is much more seriously than canon does... the implication that wizards are immune to muggle diseases and that they are broadly unaffected by physical trauma unless that trauma has a magical cause really bothers me. entirely - as you say - because it directly undermines the series' thesis that the purity of magical blood is irrelevant and that the wizarding world's dehumanisation of muggles and muggleborns by treating them as, essentially, separate, lower species is wrong.

the main canon example of this which i detest is dumbledore's suggestion in half-blood prince that merope gaunt could have survived childbirth if she'd simply "raised her wand to save her own life". after all, if a little bit of magic makes one immune to experiencing complications during childbirth [unlike thousands upon thousands of muggles throughout history, who would probably have very much liked to have lived to see their children grow up]... then voldemort is completely justified in thinking merope's death was a selfish, shameful, deliberate choice.

[i do understand that the idea merope chose to die is primarily included in the text so dumbledore can segue into saying that lily "had a choice too", contributing to the gradual reveal in half-blood prince and deathly hallows that she's the key to the whole mystery. but i still think that jkr could maybe have though a little bit harder about what she was suggesting with this than she evidently did...]

and so i think in fandom it's both fun and important not to accept the idea that wizards are automatically resistant to anything which might kill, injure, or disable a muggle - especially because it lets us really play with some of the big worldbuilding questions surrounding the conventions and institutions of wizarding society.

what do disability rights look like in a world which is so rabidly intolerant of difference, and which appears not to have any sort of welfare state? the nhs is a recent invention, created in a muggle britain which is culturally and institutionally separate from the wizarding one: so is treatment at st mungo's free - and, if not, what happens to those who can't pay? how is queerness understood in a society which appears to have views on sexual expression which are fairly conservative - and how does this mean the wizarding state responded to the aids crisis? what do reproductive rights look like in this kind of society? if the dementor's kiss results in - essentially - a vegetative state, what is done with the people the kiss has been performed on? what might it be like for your relative to develop dementia at 100... when you know they might live to 250? what impact do biases about blood status have on how muggleborn patients are treated?

i just think it's interesting!

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #19 – Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro

This is the third book I’ve picked up as part of my whole aspirational ‘read a piece of non-SFF capital-l Literature every month’ New Years resolution. Of those three, it is the second I opened only to discover it actually is science fiction and/or fantasy after all. Which is just a very funny thing to happen twice, and also meant the book was significantly less outside my comfort zone than I’d expected. Which did make it quite a pleasant read.

The story follows Klara, an AF (Artificial Friend, a companion robot for children) in a broadly sketched and mildly dystopian future America. At first it just follows her life in the shop where she’s kept, observing the world around her and interacting with the store manager and the other AFs, but the meat of the book is her life with the family who buys her. Over time you learn that Josie, her child, suffers from severe and increasing health issues as a consequence of being ‘lifted’ (genetically enhanced, in some unclear way) in the womb. Klara, being solar-powered and having quietly developed a one-robot religion underpinned by a firm belief in the power and benevolence of Mr. Sun (and a moral opposition to Pollution, which obscures and drives him away) does her best to invoke his help in nourishing and restoring Josie. At the same time, she learns that her job is not just to comfort Josie but, should she die, to be her mother’s replacement goldfish and imitate her perfectly.

The setting is broadly sketched and never really exposited upon – it’s just not something Klara is particularly interested in – but it’s a very modern sort of dystopia. Much of the populace, even among the American professional elite, have been left ‘post-employed’ by robotic automation. The remaining meritocratic elite have embraced novel and risky genetic enhancements for their children, as the only possible way of ensuring they get into a good school and one of the few good careers left. There are fascist militia compounds off in the distance somewhere. The overall feeling is that of a society dimly aware it’s midway through collapsing, but with no ideas of how to arrest its fall. But since Klara has no interest at all in either politics or economics, we only see this as it directly intrudes upon the story, with nary a lecture or manifesto to be seen.

I’ve only ever read one other book by Ishiguro, so I really don’t know how much this generalizes, but the similarities to Never Let Me Go really were striking. Both books are set in really rather horrifying societies, but portrayed in an utterly normalized way by someone who never even thinks to question the real rules they live under. Which is even more striking because in both cases the protagonist is seen by society as only quasi-human – like a person, but existing only in relation to and for the benefit of the people who really matter. And in both cases the story follows the protagonist who lives their life moving through the role they were made for without ever really resisting it, let alone changing it. Not that the roles of ‘friend to sick child’ and ‘mandatory organ donor’ are exactly comparable but, you know.

A definition I’ve always kind of liked for what makes literary fiction, well, literary is that it’s as or more concerned with the beauty and presentation of its prose than it is on the information the prose is conveying. Not at all true in terms of how the term’s actually used (genre is marketing), but it works for me, and lets this book count as literature quite handily. The whole story is told quite tightly from Klara’s point of view, and it’s a pleasure to read. Even if it took me more than a few pages to really understand how she described scenes, always foregrounding the ways they were divided by grids or patterns of the sun’s light.

Portraying the normal human society through the eyes of a naive and somewhat alien narrator to get away without explaining everything is a classic sci fi trope for a reason, but it’s overall used really well here as well.

I’m still not entirely sure how to interpret the sudden intrusion of magical realism with the ending. But otherwise, really quite a good read.

[thoughtportal]

Speech in Acceptance of the National Book Foundation Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters

To the givers of this beautiful reward, my thanks, from the heart. My family, my agents, my editors, know that my being here is their doing as well as my own, and that the beautiful reward is theirs as much as mine. And I rejoice in accepting it for, and sharing it with, all the writers who’ve been excluded from literature for so long — my fellow authors of fantasy and science fiction, writers of the imagination, who for fifty years have watched the beautiful rewards go to the so-called realists.

Hard times are coming, when we’ll be wanting the voices of writers who can see alternatives to how we live now, can see through our fear-stricken society and its obsessive technologies to other ways of being, and even imagine real grounds for hope. We’ll need writers who can remember freedom — poets, visionaries — realists of a larger reality.

Right now, we need writers who know the difference between production of a market commodity and the practice of an art. Developing written material to suit sales strategies in order to maximise corporate profit and advertising revenue is not the same thing as responsible book publishing or authorship.

Yet I see sales departments given control over editorial. I see my own publishers, in a silly panic of ignorance and greed, charging public libraries for an e-book 6 or 7 times more than they charge customers. We just saw a profiteer try to punish a publisher for disobedience, and writers threatened by corporate fatwa. And I see a lot of us, the producers, who write the books and make the books, accepting this — letting commodity profiteers sell us like deodorant, and tell us what to publish, what to write.

Books aren’t just commodities; the profit motive is often in conflict with the aims of art. We live in capitalism, its power seems inescapable — but then, so did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings. Resistance and change often begin in art. Very often in our art, the art of words.

I’ve had a long career as a writer, and a good one, in good company. Here at the end of it, I don’t want to watch American literature get sold down the river. We who live by writing and publishing want and should demand our fair share of the proceeds; but the name of our beautiful reward isn’t profit. Its name is freedom.

Thank you.

Ursula K. Le Guin November 19, 2014

This text may be quoted without obtaining permission from the author, or copied in full so long as the copyright information is included:

Copyright © 2014 Ursula K. Le Guin

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