#sterling integrator

[sonalikrishnan]

Navigating B2B and MFT Trends

In today’s fast-paced digital landscape, organizations grapple with a host of challenges stemming from a rapidly evolving B2B and Managed File Transfer (MFT) environment. From managing ever-increasing file transfer volumes to ensuring the timely onboarding of a rising number of suppliers and customers, businesses are at the crossroads of transformation and innovation. As expectations for faster responses soar and the imperative to modernize legacy systems through cloud adoption becomes pressing, where can businesses turn for a holistic solution?

The Landscape of Change: Unpacking the Trends

Surging File Transfer and B2B Transaction Volume: The exponential increase in data flow between businesses necessitates robust systems capable of handling, processing, and analyzing large quantities of information securely and efficiently.

Growing Number of Suppliers and Customers: Diversifying supply chains and expanding customer bases require advanced B2B solutions that can seamlessly integrate and manage multifaceted interactions.

Heightened Expectations for Rapid Responses: Today’s digital-first customers anticipate swift transactions, immediate feedback, and efficient onboarding processes, pressuring businesses to keep pace.

The Push for Cloud Modernization: As legacy systems age, the movement towards cloud-based infrastructures offers businesses scalability, flexibility, and resilience against disruptions.

Complex and Diverse Transactions: Handling multifaceted B2B transactions necessitates a robust platform capable of catering to unique business requirements.

Security Concerns: With ransomware and security breaches becoming more prevalent, ensuring data security across transactions has never been more paramount.

Bridging the Gap with Pragma Edge and IBM Sterling Solutions

Facing these intricate challenges head-on, Pragma Edge, in collaboration with IBM Sterling, provides tailored solutions designed to address and surmount these trends.

Combat Complexity: Simplify your B2B interactions and file transfers with streamlined processes, reducing the intricacies of managing vast transaction volumes.

Fortify Security: Benefit from top-tier security measures that guard against potential breaches and attacks, ensuring the safety and integrity of your data at every touchpoint.

Boost Agility: Seamlessly deploy solutions that offer flexibility in handling diverse transactions, ensuring you’re always ready to adapt to the changing landscape.

Enhance Visibility: Gain unmatched insight into your B2B transactions, allowing for predictive maintenance, performance management, and informed decision-making.

Empower Your IT Team: Address the IT skills shortage with user-friendly interfaces and tools, minimizing the learning curve and maximizing productivity.

Integrate Seamlessly: Move away from siloed solutions to a unified platform that integrates all your B2B needs, from onboarding to transaction management.

Smooth Cloud Transition: Embark on your cloud journey with confidence, leveraging the robustness and resilience of modernized infrastructures.

Customized Solutions for Unique Needs: Each business is distinct. Benefit from solutions tailored to cater to your unique requirements, ensuring you’re not just another number.

Stay Ahead with Modernization: Embrace the future with open arms. Keep pace with modernization efforts that ensure your business remains at the forefront of innovation.

Scale with Confidence: As your transactions grow, so does your capability. Experience unmatched scalability that keeps up with your business trajectory.

Accelerate Onboarding: No more delays. Expedite your onboarding processes, ensuring rapid and efficient integration of new suppliers and customers.

In conclusion, as the B2B and MFT landscapes continue to evolve, having a trusted partner like Pragma Edge, backed by the prowess of IBM Sterling, can be the game-changer your business needs to stay ahead of the curve. 

Ready to embark on a journey of transformation and success? Reach out to us today.

[butternutkrinklefry]

Exploring the X-Men tag is like a minefield because one second I'm doomscrolling memes and then I'm blasted in the face with Logan's tits

[dyed-indigo]

y'know it's actually so fascinating to think that i was drawing and posting here and just generally living before i made crusker and later began my obsession. like in my mind there is no longer a pre-crusker time period they've always been there

[easytoken12]

Top Greenhouse Manufacturers: Innovations and Designs

STERLING ARCH PRODUCTS stands as a premier greenhouse manufacturer, situated at Plot-81 Ecotech VI in Greater Noida. With a commitment to quality and innovation, Sterling Arch specializes in crafting cutting-edge greenhouses that epitomize durability, functionality, and sustainability. Their designs integrate modern technology with eco-conscious practices, offering solutions for various agricultural and horticultural needs. Each structure is meticulously engineered to optimize natural light, climate control, and space utilization. Sterling Arch Products' dedication to superior craftsmanship and their strategic location in Greater Noida makes them a frontrunner in the industry, catering to diverse clientele seeking reliable, state-of-the-art greenhouse solutions.

[nisatrainings1997]

[darkficlord69]

Cregan Stark x Targ!Reader

Warnings: smut, 18+, unprotected sex, 18+ language, death, character death, angst, sadness, not proofread

Cregan Stark was indubitably a wolf: ever since he sprang up from his mother's northern womb he had a savage attitude kept in place by his house's sterling reputation for personal integrity. But when his gaze locked onto yours, all semblance of restraint evaporated from his big muscled body like a snowflake slowly melting under the hot sun. When he met you, he felt like a starved animal ready to pounce, to hunt, to eat something so positively delicious that it would satisfy him to no end...

Despite having lived your whole pampered life on Dragonstone, under your mother's constant and loving supervision, you felt at home in the snow covered Winterfell. And when you descended from your mauve scaly beast with a wingspan bigger than the tallest watchtower in Deepwood Motte, you shivered although you were drowning in thick layers of fur and wool. That is, because you met Cregan. He looked at you with an intesity that was at odds with the iciness of the climate and you could do little but avert your gaze to avoid losing yourself in those stormy grey eyes that twinkled with desire.

"My lord, it is an honor," you curtsied clumsily due to your heavy attire but Cregan quickly put a hand on yours to help stabilize you and prevent you from falling face-first in the snow.

"The honor is all mine, my princess," he replied in a husky voice that almost brought tears to ths corners of your eyes. Whatever passed between you was a dangerous thing, hotter than fire, yet fickler than a shard of thin ice.

"I hope your journey was pleasant," he said.

"Oh, definitely, my lord of Winterfell. Now, I believe the politics and scheming can wait for the morrow, but riding Kocsaryon has made my belly rumble in hunger. A feast is in order, if it please you."

Cregan gave a curt nod and led you to the Main Hall, where a feast had already been laid out. The long wooden tables groaned under the weight of hearty soups for each heart, each dish more decadent than the last, the aromas mingling in the air like a seductive promise of indulgence.

At the center of the hall stood a massive boar, its skin crisp and golden, crackling with fat that had been painstakingly rendered over hours of slow roasting. It was stuffed with onions, apples, and a medley of herbs that filled the air with their heady scent. The juices ran clear as it was carved, pooling on the thick wooden platters beneath, where hunks of dark meat were passed around to eager hands.

Beside it, platters of venison, seasoned with juniper and garlic, had been seared to perfection, the meat tender and pink within, the crust dark and fragrant. Roasted root vegetables, earthy and sweet, nestled alongside them, their edges caramelized to a rich mahogany.

A serving girl approached Cregan to clear away a platter of untouched meat and your eyes darkened when her hair brushed against Stark's shoulder.

You stuffed yourself until your belly groaned and then you chanced a glance again at Cregan who was watching as you cleaned your fingers by putting them in your mouth and slowly sucking in a suggestive gesture that was meant as a provocative invitation. Lord Stark's eyes hardened with unmistakable lust and he rose abruptly, mumbling excuses to confused guests. He promptly grabbed your hand and led you outside.

"If you will follow me, my lady. I have something to show you."

By the time you left the warmth of the Great Keep, you were wholly intrigued by this escapade. Cregan knelt before the weirwood tree that seemed to weep blood as you joined him in prayer.

"So, are going to..." No sooner had you started to ask your question, than Cregan's lips were on yours, kissing you with a ferocious intensity that went beyond mere words. His expert tongue left a trail of saliva down the column of your neck, your jaw... He licked and sucked like a newborn wolf pup, but his groans were the howl of a fully grown member of the pack.

"Oh, gods!" you yelled, uncaring of who may hear.

He quickly disrobed you, your smallclothes thrown far, far away and then you were naked beneath his lord's piercing gaze, trembling with anticipation as heat pooled between your legs.

"Cregan, pleaaase!"

The night beneath the godswood was a symphony of passion and primal need. The ancient trees stood silent witness as you and Cregan came together, your bodies intertwining with an intensity that left you both breathless. The air was cold, biting even, but the heat in your lower stomach was enough to ward off the chill for a time.

He kissed you with a fervor that spoke of years of restraint finally unleashed. His hands, rough and calloused from a lifetime of wielding swords and axes, were surprisingly gentle as they roamed your body, tracing every curve and dip as if committing you to memory. You shivered beneath his touch, but it wasn't from the cold. It was from the raw power and the undeniable hunger in his eyes, the kind that made you feel like the only thing in the world that mattered.

As the night deepened, the cold crept closer, seeping into your bones. But you were too lost in him, too lost in the way he made you feel alive in a way you had never experienced before. You clung to him, seeking warmth and comfort in the strength of his embrace, in the heat of his body pressed against yours.

But the North was unforgiving. The warmth of passion was no match for the biting cold of the northern winter. Even as Cregan held you close, his hairy body shielding you from the worst of the elements, the chill began to seep into your skin, turning your breath to fog and your lips to ice.

Cregan sensed it before you did, the way your shivers became more violent, more uncontrollable. He pulled back, his brow furrowing in concern as he looked into your eyes, now glassy with the onset of hypothermia. His heart clenched painfully in his chest at the sight.

"You're freezing," he murmured, his voice rough with worry. He pulled you closer, trying to rub warmth back into your limbs, but it was too late. The cold had already taken hold, and no amount of heat from him could chase it away.

You tried to smile, tried to reassure him that you were fine, but the words caught in your throat, your lips too numb to form them. You could feel the warmth of life slipping away, could feel the darkness creeping in at the edges of your vision. But you didn't want to let go, not when you were here, in his arms, where you had always dreamed of being.

"Cregan..." you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "I'm sorry..."

His eyes widened in horror as he realized what was happening. "No," he growled, shaking his head. "No, don't you dare leave me."

But you were already slipping away, your body going limp in his arms. The last thing you felt was the warmth of his tears on your face, the last thing you heard was the desperate, broken sound of his voice calling your name, begging you to stay.

When the dawn broke, the godswood was silent, the snow around you undisturbed save for the imprint of Cregan's body beside yours. He held you tightly, even as the life had long since fled from your body, refusing to let go, refusing to accept that you were gone.

The godswood bore witness to many things over the centuries, but the sight of the Lord of Winterfell, the fearsome wolf of the North, cradling the lifeless body of the one he loved, was something that would linger in its memory forever.

For Cregan Stark, the godswood would never again be a place of peace, but a place of sorrow, a reminder of the warmth he had once held in his arms and the cold that had stolen it away.

Guyss, this is my first fic! 🫣 Please let me know what you think so that I can improve my work 🐺🌙💫 Thanks for reading! 💝

[dcdreamblog]

Roy Raymond's book about the history of PIs has a chapter on PoC PIs and he mentions a native American private detective who went by "Pow-Wow Smith"; I seem to recall that this was a nickname occasionally used for Sheriff Ohiyesa Smith, the Western Hero (which he hated for obvious reasons); was this a descendant or just someone using it for name recognition or...?

Yea that one's a...I mean I'm sure it was progressive for the time. So to back fill some information for those not in the know. We're talking here about famous sheriff Ohiyesa Smith of Elkhorn, Nebraska.

(Smith's official portrait from his exhibit at the National Cowboy 7 Western Heritage Museum in Oklahoma City (can you tell they're my best source for shit like this?))

Yes that was the name he went by, only about half against his will. It is how he is recorded for posterity and while I do not enjoy it, his actual relationship to the name and his own legacy during life was...complicated to say the least.

He was born on what is now the Red Deer Valley reservation to the Santee Sioux, a band of the Eastern Dakota in Nebraska and went out to learn about the "white man's world" via the nearby town of Elkhorn. He was a skilled tracker, fighter and shooter and so was made deputy sheriff in short order and eventually promoted to sheriff full stop.

The name "Pow Wow" was given to him by the townsfolk in what by all accounts seemed to be a genuine attempt at affection. Yes, Ohiyesa made it clear, especially in his early career that he would have preferred going by his "Indian name" (his words, not mine) but as the town continued to insist and as he integrated himself more and more with that community he made his peace with it calling it, from his own diaries... "The people of this city blessing me with their approval. I cannot fully remove the part of me that is proud to here the name "Pow Wow" spoken proudly by my people and with fear by bandits and outlaws" Make of that what you will, he was a Sioux man who had gained some measure of status and even acclaim in the late 1800s. While he was to many respects a trailblazing and radical figure I can't find it in my heart to condemn him for picking his battles and making his peace.

He was even granted US citizenship directly by an act of congress (Because no one is allowed to forget native americans were not given automatic citizenship until *1924*)

He eventually married another SIoux woman named Fleetfoot Smith and they had many children, who in turn had children, on and on until we get to today's subject. U.S Marshall Ohiyesa Smith the Second.

(Cropped newspaper photo of Smith from the Gotham Gazette)

Yes, Smith is indeed a direct descendant of the famous man with whom he shares a name. He is also on the rolls as a member of the Santee Sioux of Red Deer Valley. By all accounts he is a U.S Marshall in VERY good standing with a sterling record (as I was told very directly (and loudly) by a government source (I have those now) who assumed I was investigating him out of some kind of assumption of misconduct.)

If there's an award that a U.S Marshall is eligible for, Smith has one it thrice over and everybody I spoke to had nothing but decent things to say about him. Though he's probably most famous outside "true crime"-esque circles for an utterly bizarre caper he was wrapped up in that involved an old fashioned shoot out at the derelict Gotham Gulch amusement park.

[recareels]

only you

character: kamisato ayato

genre: smut + yakuza!au

notes: this piece is set within my feels like forever universe, but it works well as a stand alone piece and you absolutely do not need to read that piece to understand this one! it is a yakuza/crime family au meaning there are no visions etc. but either way the primary focus is the smut! as always, reader is female. enjoy and please heed the warnings below and stay safe!

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, somnophilia, dubcon, minimal prep, rough sex, size kink/size difference, implicit toxic relationship, daddy kink, yakuza boss!ayato, dacryphilia, praise

words: 2.7k

synopsis: 

It is only here, in the safety and comfort of your shared bedroom, buried balls deep in your body and shrouded in your love, that he gives himself permission to fall apart with yearning, to give into that voracity for you constantly roaring within him, safely buried beneath layers of nobility and integrity and chained tightly to his soul, bound by expectations and duties and responsibilities. 

It is only here, with you, where he can lose control completely, where he can be messy with it all, where he can abandon that tight meticulousness he rules over every aspect of his life with—in the only way he can, the only way he knows how. 

And you let him, every night.

“Shh baby, keep sleeping,” he’s murmuring as he slips into bed behind you. “Just let Daddy take what he needs.”  

This has become somewhat of a habit as of late; Ayato retires from his endless work at an ungodly hour to snuggle into bed—into his plush pillows and fluffy comforter and your sweet, sweet cunt—and rails the hell out of you before finally falling asleep. 

You can’t say you blame him, though. 

Your Daddy’s been under so much stress lately. Shipments gone wrong, product gone missing, men gone missing with it, disappearing into thin air as smoothly as a ghost, leaving mere wisps of their auras behind. 

But your Daddy is a smart man, a ruthless man, and he knows how to grasp those wisps and turn them into threads, braid them into ropes, tie them into nooses.   

Still, it’s exhausting work, and his favourite way to end his fourteen hour workdays, to relax and release all of the tension that’s been collecting in his muscles, is by fucking you into oblivion. 

Not that you mind, of course. You never mind. His pretty, perfect little princess, shining with your sterling obedience and your desperation to submit. 

It hurts every single night, Ayato consistently failing to prep you and stretch you out properly, opting instead to use two saliva-slicked fingers pumping in and out of your cunt until it’s just wet enough for his cock to slide in with minimal pain for him. 

His cock momentarily eradicates the thick haze of sleep as it stretches you open, stinging sparks shooting down your inner thighs as your delicate flesh tears itself wide for him, ready and eager to welcome him home. 

A lethargic hiss trickles through the gaps of your teeth, soft features crumpling in discomfort as dainty fingers curl in the lavish pillows, nails scraping against the Egyptian cotton, a tender hush dripping from your Daddy’s lips, sweet and silky as the most decadent syrup. 

He’s not often an impatient man, preferring to take his time when he fucks you, to appreciate each and every precious little detail—the hitch in your breath, the whiny mewls on your tongue, the way your nose oh-so-cutely scrunches up when his cockhead rams your cervix—and singe them into the pages of his memory. 

But lately, on these nights, it seems that he just can’t wait, that he just needs you immediately—needs to fuck his soul into you, to fuck your soul out of you, to pour all of his frustrations of the day into your cunt and watch them ooze out in thick dollops of glistening cream. 

It’s a nice change of pace, if you’re being honest. There is something so sexy, something so powerful, in watching a distinguished and elegant man such as your Daddy absolutely fall apart with desperate desire for you—to allow himself to melt into your body and become one, temporarily freed from the shackles of Yakuza Boss and Yashiro Commissioner and the heaviness such titles carry with them; to be wracked with this seemingly insatiable hunger that only you can cure, only you can fill, only you can fix, even if it’s only for but a moment, the insatiable sated until it resurfaces by the next night and you offer him that heavenly release all over again.

“Just let Daddy takes what he needs tonight,” he’s repeating as he bottoms out, cockhead pressed tightly against your sore cervix. 

“Daddy can take whatever he wants, whenever he wants it,” you mumble up at him, stars of worship in your eyes, their shine unhindered by the bleary glaze of sleep. “It’s all yours, Daddy, always.” 

You look so fucking beautiful, so fucking breathtaking when you get like this, staring at him like he’s some sort of god, as if he carved the moon and painted the constellations in the night sky himself, voice stuffed full of such sheer devotion, such unadulterated love for him that your words scald his skin, searing themselves into smooth flesh and burrowing deep into his tissues, never to be removed.

He pauses for a moment, gaze softening as his eyes glide gently across your face, overflowing with fondness. Lithe fingers brush hair back from your temples, Ayato leaning down to press his lips firmly to yours—a second for him to savour the moment, to suck it into his mouth and curl his tongue around it, protective as it presses it further and further, holds it tighter and tighter, then swallows it down. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs against your mouth, soft and warm. “I love you.”

Large hands skim along your thighs, molding your pliant body into whatever position he deems satisfactory tonight, legs folded up on either side of your torso as nimble fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, limbs limp and muscles malleable from sleep, yielding to the tender will of their master as he crafts you into a brand new masterpiece; something created only to be beautifully destroyed.

And then, he begins, the slow draw back as he drags his cock nearly entirely from your body a precursory wind up, gathering power and momentum before he slams back into you in a single, swift, fluid movement.

It’s hard, and rough, and fast, the ruthless snapping of his hips jostling your body with each plunge into you, his grip on your flesh the only thing preventing you from being shoved up the mattress.   

A sharp cry tears up your throat, his name and his title a tangled mess on your sloppy tongue, and he hushes you, the gentle sound juxtaposing his relentless fucking, his voice a pacifying lullaby as he tells you to Rest, angel, rest for Daddy. 

Ever compliant, you nod, heavy lids drooping with Daddy’s permission, eyes glassy with the prick of tears, shimmering droplets embellishing your thick lashes in their stubborn refusal to fall. 

“So pretty, my sweet girl,” Ayato’s breathing, a thumb swiping across your cheekbone, the tip of his finger grazing your lashes and collecting your tears, bringing them to his mouth as the point of his tongue licks the salt clean, the maneuver slowing his pace for no longer than a single instant. “So, so pretty for me.”

It’s only in these moments, in the dark of the night and the heat of your breathy sounds, that he can truly allow himself to let everything loose.

It is only here, in the safety and comfort of your shared bedroom, buried balls deep in your body and shrouded in your love, that he gives himself permission to fall apart with yearning, to give into that voracity for you constantly roaring within him, safely buried beneath layers of nobility and integrity and chained tightly to his soul, bound by expectations and duties and responsibilities. 

It is only here, with you, where he can lose control completely, where he can be messy with it all, where he can abandon that tight meticulousness he rules over every aspect of his life with—in the only way he can, the only way he knows how. 

And you let him, every night. 

Snarls rip from his chest, each one more vicious than the last, blunt nails biting his name into your skin in purple-tinged crescents, his hips gaining speed with each buck into you. 

Jutting hipbones carve a space for themselves in the supple flesh of your inner thighs, staining them with the most magnificent galaxies—brilliant blues and swirling violets and specks of crimson—microscopic worlds he creates for the two of you, a whole universe between your legs that will fade by morning. 

You can practically feel the stress melting out of him, leaking from his muscles and seeping from his pores, rigid and tense form becoming more languid and lax with the rough ruts of his hips. 

But despite his growing reprieve, his strength does not falter.

His pace is pounding, cockhead ramming against your cervix with each merciless piston, and that elegant, dignified man of high society melts away, fastidious nature consumed as he indulges himself in these hedonisms, drowns himself in the chaos and the uncontrollable and succumbs to what he needs, what only you can offer him. 

“Only you,” he pants out like he’s reaffirming a mantra, strands of blue drenched with sweat hanging in his eyes, swaying slightly with each brush of his eyelashes. “Only you, baby. You give it to me like no one else.” 

“Only me,” you mumble out, words slurred, delicate fingers curling weakly against his shoulders, nails collecting flesh beneath them as you cling to him. “Me, me, me.” 

And you can’t help but feel a thick swell of privilege, of pride, that no one else in the universe gets to see him like this—unhinged, rabid, desperate for you—that no one else allows him a space to be like this, that no one else in the would could ever make him like this, not the way you do.

Tilting his head downward, his forehead knocks against yours, tongue hanging limply from his mouth as uneven breaths waft across your face, soft moans pushed from his chest with each thrust, strands of saliva drizzling across your lips and your chin. 

His scent invades your body—potent notes of sandalwood and jasmine rushing down your throat and into your lungs, soaking through deep tissue and twining through your blood, making you one; irrevocable, irreversible. 

A pitchy whimper catches in your chest, fragmented by his rough hips, as your tongue sops up his spit, the taste a shot of spice to your senses, mouth instinctually falling open and begging for more.

“God,” he keens, eyes frantic as they sweep across your face, down your neck, to your tits, to where you are conjoined, a groan rattling his ribs. “You always know just how to help Daddy, don’t you, princess? Such a—ah—such a good girl for me, aren’t you,”

It isn’t phrased as a question—you both know you are, his good girl, his best girl—but you answer anyway, head nodding in wobbly movements, mewling out, “Always, Daddy, always wanna be good f’you,”

“Look at you, my perfect baby,” he nearly spits at you, words tapering off into a hoarse whine. “So good for me, taking my cock so well.”

His voice is ragged velvet, torn haphazardly with sharp sheers, his snarled out praises resonant and rumbly, his sweet sentiments paradoxed by a harsh tone. It evolves in time with the acceleration of his movements, morphing from that sophisticated, almost regal cadence to something much deeper, much darker, decadent as it spills from his lips.

Yes, Daddy, yes, Daddy, yes, Daddy, you’re babbling out with stupid little jerks of your head, words a sticky stream steadily flowing from your mouth, drenched in spit and lathered with tears. 

It’s admirable, how he still manages to retain such finesse, a rhythm that’s almost graceful in a way despite the brutal jackhammering of his hips, so hard, so forceful the rosewood of his headboard rocks against the wall, harmonious with the scrape of wood against wood beneath your bodies.

And even in the midst of all his growling and guttural words, all his vicious thrusts and gnashing teeth, he still stares at you with so much adoration it pours from his irises, thick and heady as it smothers your skin, cradles you in the warmest blanket, stitched together with appreciation.

The pain only works to amplify the pleasure, the heady concoction buzzing through your veins with every pump of his hips, leaving your blood tingling in its wake. Everything feels hazy, weighted with thick exhaustion, the veil of sleep diffusing your vision and turning the room into soft, blurred edges and lethargic, dreamy movements. 

But it feels good, the steady grind of your Daddy’s cock against that spot, the bouts of thorns it sends fizzing through your gut chased promptly by soothing flares, the comforting heat of his body—his sweat and his spit and his breath—blanketing yours.

It’s all so very blissful, and you’re merely enjoying the sensation when your orgasm shatters it suddenly, breaks the euphoria into sharp shards that slice through your skin and pierce through your organs, lidded eyes snapping open as your body goes rigid and your cunt convulses around your Daddy’s cock, a gushing warmth flooding the apex of your thighs.

Ayato’s murmuring something in that dark, sweet, smooth lilt as he continues to slam into you, but you’re too fucked out to comprehend it, everything muted by hedonistic languor.  

You barely feel him cum, senses gone blunt and numb by the time his hips are stuttering to a stop, his cock nothing more than a dull, faint throbbing against your cervix. 

You can feel his cum leaking out of you, though, dribbling out of your cute little hole and smearing across your thighs, a soft whine slipping from your parted lips as Ayato leans back, dispelling the warmth his body had provided.

“Beautiful,” he’s breathing out to himself, periwinkle eyes fixated on your cunt as his thumb swipes across it, a violent shiver rippling through your flesh. It seems as though he’s in some sort of trance, captivated by your body, your beauty, gaze scanning your skin for dollops of cream and smearing them across rapidly developing blotches of violet—the perfect canvas, painted with him.  

But then you’re whimpering, nonsensical little noises that slip from your lips as you make grabby hands at him, and he’s smiling, pulled from whatever spell your cunt and his cum had cast over him, fingers lacing with yours as he leans forward to press a kiss against your damp forehead before he’s gone again.  

You try to follow, but everything aches, muscles dense and heavy with the pleasure that has seeped into your tissues. Residual tears shield your eyes, rendering your gaze watery, belatedly watching as your Daddy moves around the room, his body nothing more than a collection of blurry, wavering lines. Blinking hard and with conviction, you dispel the bleariness from your vision, a pair of crystals rolling down your cheeks, Ayato suddenly crisp, clear. 

“Daddy?” 

An involuntary wince twists your features as the term leaves your lips, letters ragged and ruined, voice wrecked and raw. An attempt to clear your throat does nothing but make it worse, the noise spiky, stinging as it scrapes against the gummy walls. 

“Shh, baby,” Ayato’s saying as he hovers over you, a damp washcloth in his hand. “Daddy’s here, right here.”

He looks utterly spent, amethyst eyes dull and sunken, hair mussed with salt and sweat, voice soft but weighted with fatigue.

“Daddy,” you say again, a frown marring your face as large hands gently spread your cum splattered thighs, mindful of your sore muscles. “S’fine, just leave it,”

“No,” he responds with a singular shake of his head, voice simultaneously tender and firm. “Daddy has to clean it, sweetheart, or it’ll crust and stick, and that will hurt you.” 

“S’okay,” you mumble sleepily with a shrug. “I can jus’ clean it in th’morning.” 

“A Daddy isn’t a very good Daddy if he doesn’t clean up the mess he’s made, don’t you agree?” 

“But—But you’re exhausted, Daddy,” the protest comes out as a stringy whine, your frown morphing into a pout so deep it puckers your forehead. “You need’ta rest, too!”

“Oh, my sweet girl,” he murmurs, ministrations paused to gaze upon you with stifling fondness, a palm caressing your cheek. His thumb skims across your lips, tracing the bow and the curve, a small but genuine grin spreading across his own. “You’re so cute. But you don’t need to worry about Daddy, okay? He’ll rest as soon as he’s finished with you, he promises. Now, go back to sleep, darling.” 

And although his voice is sweet and his actions are tender, there is an implicit order folded into them, firm and strong and indicating that this conversation is over; his word is final, and it’d be wise to obey, just like the good little girl you are. 

“Okay,” you whisper, eyes finally slipping shut again, dry and tacky as the salt-encrusted lids stick together. “G’night, Daddy. I love you.”

“I love you, precious.” 

The satisfying warmth of happiness bubbles in your chest as you allow unconsciousness to finally envelop you, faded giggles tickling the back of your tongue while you drift further and further into its comforting embrace, those two little words swimming laps in your mind. Only you, only you, only you. 

Only you can offer him this solace, only you can grant him this reprieve, only you can fulfill his desires. 

Only you.

And whatever he wants, whatever he needs, it’s his to take, always. 

[smallnico]

when you made the comic about wyll saying that thing about orin i liked that the him inside his thought bubble didnt have the post-transformation horns and eye. a thoughtful little touch, it made me contemplate the ghost of his character arc (sorry if this is rude to the developers its just how i feel.) i also thought the comic was good overall. thanks ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

AUH NO THANK YOU <333

yeah i'm so glad people noticed and enjoyed that detail!! i love wyll so dearly and i also (with love to larian for everything they Did do) think he suffered a bit from the last-ish minute changes they made to his character. they were necessary changes, and they made him who he is today, but he didn't get as much thorough and layered development as some of the other companions did. he and karlach are both in this camp lmao, and i believe for the same reason. they didn't become who they are until pretty late in the development process, unlike someone like astarion, who's been himself since very early on.

all this to say, i love wyll and i am determined to explore what is there as best as i can, and i fucking love taking little details and pulling them out. wyll is a confident person who outwardly states that 'self-doubt' is one of the most dangerous monsters a person could fight, and he tends to double down on his confident persona every time something happens to rattle that confidence. moments like the tiefling party illustrate this for me very clearly -- if you wander around with him in the emerald grove post-devilification, a lot of key npcs will say to the effect of "wyll, what in the fuck happened to you", or react with fear and uncertainty. they're willing to accept it given any amount of time and thought, but there's not nothing to his worry that people see him as a monster, and of course, he's already been through the trauma of that same snap judgement by his father, so. he puts on a brave face and keeps his distance from the people he fears he makes uncomfortable, because what else are you going to do? enforce your own uncertain presence in front of regular, good people who are just... trying to live their lives? having a good time at a party? they don't want to be scared. you've been working your whole life to try and keep people like them safe so they don't have to feel scared or unsafe. you are getting in the way. this isn't for you. you aren't welcome here. it does no good to argue that point when you could just keep your chin up and leave.

of course, that's sad as hell, are you fucking kidding me? wyll deserves better than that, but he won't accept better because he's not the type to ask for grace or patience from others, and he's from a background where he's not confident he will receive it -- his father's grace is one thing, but think for a second about how he talks about ulder ravengard's personal history as well: ravengard sr. is the son of a tradesman serving a role meant for patriars. i don't doubt that all that comes with its own baggage and passed-down high standards. as soon as ravengard sr. let his guard down, you know a flock of upper-class baldurians was just waiting to tear him apart for it, because you see them do the same thing to gortash even though he's literally mind-controlling several of them. i don't doubt that ulder ravengard instilled in wyll a driving need to not only be better than other men, surer than other men, more dependable, reliable, with more sterling integrity than other men at all costs, remember the words of balduran, memorize the values of the city, love baldur's gate more than other men, be ready to face them and prove these things to them at all times because they are always testing you. it's hard to have the most demanded of you at all times, and it can create the kind of man wyll is: a man who sees self-doubt and hesitation as a monster, worse than a mind flayer or a devil. and he knows from experience (again, from ulder ravengard himself) that flagging for a second, not being able to explain yourself sufficiently to the people around you, is enough to get you cast out and shunned forever.

but it's not possible for a human being to live like that. they're impossible standards for a reason. wyll has a flawless facade of confidence, but he's not immune to self-doubt and angst under the surface, and this comes out when you play as him or investigate some of the details he drops in a regular tav/durge playthrough, and his devil transformation really does shake his confidence. look:

all of a sudden he's using 'i guess' and 'maybe' and 'could' and 'i might', more uncertain language, to say nothing of what he's actually saying. he's been put in a position where he thinks people will never see the wyll underneath again unless he asks it of them, something he has been conditioned to never expect people to do -- if you have to ask, you're not projecting a solid enough image of confidence and skill and good leadership. then there's the sheer body horror and dysmorphia of minding your own business and one day your boss physically transforms you into a monster forever. wyll is trying so hard at any given moment to not let it bother him, but it so clearly does, and it would bother anyone -- but wyll ravengard is supposed to be better than anyone, better than a normal man. he lives inside stories of heroes and hyperbolic idioms, Things One Says about Heroes, because he's never been allowed to be a normal man. he had to sneak out of the house to play hopscotch with lower city kids. to me that says everything. he has been taught to lead an idealized existence free of doubt, but that just means he's gotten very good at hiding his doubts and anxieties, his inconsistencies, his human error. he has so much trouble facing the fact that he also experiences internal conflict, just like anyone.

he spares karlach because she's an innocent, because it's the right thing to do, but he struggles with making that decision because he knows it's going to hurt him, and he refuses for a long time to admit that to himself, much less anyone else, because it makes him feel lesser. it makes him feel like the worst person on the planet to admit that he was afraid for his own life, essentially staring down the barrel of a gun to say no to mizora when faced with an innocent in need of protection, even though he wouldn't dream of even making a good person mildly uncomfortable for two minutes while they get used to the way he looks.

part of my vision for wyll's development is just, him getting a little bolder with the things he says, because we all know he says some out of pocket shit for no reason, and part of why that is so funny to me is because he says those things with all the confidence of a train barrelling forward, because of course he does, he's wyll ravengard, he has to be everything to everyone, he can't do something as human as cringe or twitch an eye and go 'ah. nope, that's not what i meant' when he blurts out something thoughtless, or something that sounded better in his head. i like the idea of turning into a monster being the thing that eventually makes him more comfortable with being human. part of letting your guard down around your friends is saying stuff you think they'd get a kick out of even if it doesn't fit the perfect image of the hero you're trying to be, or saying something that comes out wrong and letting yourself cringe when it wasn't received the way you wanted it to be. letting yourself let go of the idealized version of yourself and trusting your friends enough to know that they won't think less of you for it, because they still know you would rather die than let an innocent person get hurt, even if you do feel scared for yourself in the process.

tl;dr yeah i like to depict wyll slightly awkward and nervous. let the man be a human being and vulnerable for god's sakes he's been through enough. i love him

[houseofbrat]

The first sign that there was going to be a PR fiasco regarding The Prince & Princess of Wales was back on 26 March 2023. Almost a year ago.

And what happened then?

Oh, yeah, the "ball-breaking" new private secretary Kate had selected for the job suddenly decided she no longer wanted the job. Huh?

The “straight talking” PR guru hired as the Princess of Wales’s new private secretary has opted to stay with chef Jamie Oliver rather than take up the role, The Telegraph can reveal. Alison Corfield, 51, is understood to have been uncomfortable with the prospect of having such a high-profile position and decided instead to remain under the radar.

Huh? How could she not understand the job was going to be "high-profile"? How?! She would have known that before any discussions took place about actually hiring her.

 “She loves the work and is an integral member of the campaigning team. “She decided she just wanted to keep her head down and get on with the job she knows so well in the background. She didn't want the publicity that comes with working at that level for such a well-known institution.”

Nope. It doesn't make sense, particularly when you think of all the PR fuckups that have happened in the last few months.

Because Kate having a private secretary who had a reputation in handling pr would have been quite the asset in a situation that has been unfolding right now.

A source who worked with Corfield on Oliver’s campaigns, said: “She’s a ball-breaker, a real straight-talker, very passionate, dynamic and genuinely funny. She makes things happen and will really push things forward at the palace.”

That doesn't sound like someone who would have been intimidated by working a more public job. Most people don't even know who private secretaries are to begin with.

What seems more likely at this point is that the Alison Cornfield realized she was going to clash heavily with the communications team headed up by Lee Thompson. Alison has a background in public relations (pr). It's not surprising that she would have different opinions on how to handle things regarding public communications.

And Alison--as Kate's private secretary--would not out rank the communications secretary. She would be in a situation where she had to fight constantly with with the head of communications and be losing those battles due to rank. Because the head of communications, Lee Thompson, reports up to William & William's private secretary. He may officially report up to both William & Kate, but, as I said earlier today, Kate is not on equal footing with William in the hierarchy.

This man's job should already have been on the chopping block. He should have resigned or been fired yesterday. No reports that has happened yet. Sounds like he's still working at KP. Still throwing Kate under the bus!

Look at this illustrious career:

In less than two years, this man has decimated the once sterling reputation of The Princess of Wales. You know, the reputation that her fans take pride in, and what keeps her up at the top of the YouGov polls.

And with what happened yesterday, it has taken a huge drop.

And with further events that are coming up, it will take an even bigger drop.

And cause her husband to also be humiliated and have his reputation ruined.

And yet Lee Thompson still has his job right now.

[sanchomps]

i’m actually so obsessed with your exo art and exo ocs to an extreme degree, is there anywhere you’ve written more about them?

first off, thank you for the interest in them!!! quick note, i only own one exo, everyone else belongs to my friends (i will note which belongs to who!). i've actually braced myself for the day i get this kind of ask because frankly i never write, i like making pictures on vague concepts alone. we all don't have a concrete 'story' or setting for them, these exos exist and we put them in situations and mash them together like barbie dolls for fun in discord DMs

as such answering this is long overdue but thankfully i too am obsessed with these 👇 guys a lot and they've been occupying my mind for a good 2-ish years now. these are brief descriptions to give you the quick rundown on each exo, and a fun relationship chart by the end! alright now let's get into it

---

AUDAX-16 | belongs to me :]

stubborn, grouchy and blunt. despite his battered and exhausted look, he's extremely resilient. he could take better care of himself though. he has a strained connection with the light, some limbs (left arm and leg) don't regenerate well on rez and his control of the light is unwieldy.

audax is a lightbearer but not associated with the vanguard. instead, he's employed under spider's syndicate as a mercenary. coworkers with vespula.

---

VESPULA-7 | belongs to @grimmblewick!

The Baddest Bitch in the Tangled Shore™, hired muscle for spider's syndicate, intimidation is her middle name. has opinions on her favorite soap operas.

standing at 6'10 and a brick shithouse, she's an effective bodyguard. if that doesn't make her menacing enough, her thumb, middle and pointer fingers are sharp talons from the Karnestein armlets integrated in her forearms. you can hear her arrival by the loud as hell engines on her illegally modified sparrow.

---

ATLAS-9 | belongs to @slimyteeths!

optimistic, overconfident and plucky. flexes his robot muscles at you at any given chance. most recent risen among the bunch.

atlas is part of the vanguard but doesn't agree with their militaristic approach. instead focuses his time and efforts assisting eliksni in europa to escape to other houses with variks.

---

SILVER-7 | belongs to @panicbones!

can also call him sissel. his ghost sterling calls him sissy. polite and very posh, though awkward when meeting new people. will not cuss!!

sissel is a vanguard doctor who specializes in exo health. very dedicated to learning what he can and can take this pursuit to extremes. he's done unethical actions in the process.

---

finally the Relationship Chart

hope these enlighten a bit on each of our ocs :] i'm not elaborating on finer details, that's for you to figure out 🤫

[nanomooselet]

Episode Four: Hungry!

Full disclosure, it took me a while to warm up to Wolfwood.

I hadn't read the manga or watched the older adaptation. Didn’t know anything about him except his ridiculous gun and that he was a priest (hence the ridiculous gun, because anime). I couldn't figure out why he was present in the narrative, except... because he was in the manga and older adaption. It seemed a little indulgent; I wanted more time with Meryl. He wasn’t even a priest. Obviously Nick has plenty of homoerotic tension with Vash, but all due respect and sympathy to Vash/Wolfwood shippers, m/m pairings have always left me cold (to be fair, pairings generally do that irrespective of gender. Desire unfulfilled is more my speed).

Sad to say that I still don't ship Vash/Wolfwood, but I did definitely come to understand why people do and why they like the guy. Though am I the only one baffled that Vash gets cast as the virginal princess so often? After this look?

Whew. No wonder Wolfwood looks like he got hit with a two-by-four. Ahem.

This is a very necessary episode that feels maybe too "necessary", like they realised they needed to introduce everything it introduces and didn't leave enough time to integrate it all naturally. It's too tight, and Stampede is already a show so tight it squeaks. Still, I think blowing Wolfwood's cover before the day was out was, if not the only right decision, not a wrong one. Almost immediately this guy comes across as sketchy, half from that he's barely trying to act like he's not (which absolutely sends me; he really hates his job) and half that he's just... an awkward dude, angry and obviously hurt in a way he won’t admit to. And while we know there's more to Vash than his façade, it's hard to tell just how smart he really is, how perceptive, because this is Vash. Meryl is the type to show off her knowledge, because she's young and eager to prove herself. Vash is a creature of endless masks and insurmountable walls. He refuses to, as he sees it, burden anyone else with his thoughts.

So we do exactly what Zazie does in this episode: show Vash something wounded and vulnerable because he'd tear off his own skin if it would make things easier for someone else. Except instead Wolfwood is the one who feels a little too exposed, of course. It's so funny to me how obviously he didn't expect this? And how frustrated when he realises he'll have to drag this self-sacrificial lunatic all the way to July alive without becoming attached. I honestly think he failed in that latter part before they even got shot out of the Worm. Vash is just so loving, and so loveable.

Also, the Worm guys (as I mentally call them) might be my favourite minor characters next to Rosa and her offsiders. They're a hilarious audience to the madness. I’m glad they got so many dinners in one go.

And Zazie - what a great character, one I genuinely think is an improvement over prior incarnations rather than just being different from them. Nail game on point, entirely free of fucks given, and a sterling addition to the cast. I'll talk more about our buggy friend later, and I have more to say about Wolfwood besides that hitting him with the trailer forced me to pause the video until I stopped cackling.

Finally, the closing scene chills me in hindsight for a number of reasons, but what gets me the most is that it's a bookend. At the episode's start, Vash refused to eat. Wolfwood had to convince him to. And it's not that he can't use his Gate, it's that he's decided to keep it closed, so something will have to make him decide to lay bare his power once more.

And somehow, I can't imagine Knives asking nicely.

[judithan-xing]

oc phone bg + detail shots ^w^

This is a redraw of an old phone background I made a couple years back, except I wanted to make it themed around my unofficial Year of Yaoi I've been doing. It's a celebration of all of my gay protagonists, with more detailed notes about them under the read more, please consider taking a look through at it, I really poured my heart into this piece ;w;

[In order of top to bottom, left to right]

Fester and Riot (Lordless) are what I would consider the ship that is the most "I would kill for you", in a mutual way. Riot is given his Blessing by Abaddon and prays and worships him at every hardship, completely unaware that the creepy, rot-smelling freak that he's been helping unwillingly is the object of his worship. Fester would do anything for Riot, having fallen in love with him the moment he laid eyes on him, and suffers torture and having his wings ripped from him and still goes to Riot's side.

Valcher and Dirk (Red Snow) are obsessed with each other. Codependent, but in a way that's mutually beneficial. Valcher hates humans and finds them disgusting (his vampyric diet consisting of wild game) but trusts Dirk with his life and finds him to be Different than the rest. Dirk is obsessed with Valcher and realizes that his repressed lack of want for love or sex has actually been due to needing a Freak Like Him. His love for Valcher comes easily.

(Center panel) Tamara and Judas (Magus Society) are the It Couple of All Time. Judas originally courts Tamara on the idea that he's both extremely powerful, frail, and naive, but eventually can't help but truly fall in love. His dubious morals are no match for Tamara's virtue, and he changes, not just to save the world, but to earn back his love's trust. And Tamara, despite the heart ache he's put through, lets Judas back in. Forgives him, loves him flaws and all. A Demon Prince and his Deity of Hope.

Saber and Lux (Elemon) are rivals. While Saber is nonbinary so this wouldn't count as MLM, Lux is also nonbinary so it still counts a T4T. Lux is exceptional at everything he does, between training Elemon to besting others in combat, to the point it enrages Saber. How could this idiot Nobody beat them? Over the course of their story, however, Saber learns to realize they never stood a chance. Lux is in a league of his own. The respect becomes mutual, and the crush is incidental. If you ever asked what their relationship is, they'd both say "we're just rivals" even after making out.

Sinclaire and Kail (Demon In The Machine) are... coworkers, if you could call them that. Kail, in a desperate attempt to find a better life for himself and his sister, and get them off the frozen hellscape of Titania, makes a deal with a devil - an Arma demon named Sinclaire. He sells his soul in exchange for a new hand and a mech. What he doesn't know is included is his heart, clutched in the black claws of his boss, his owner, his downfall. Toxic lovers to the end.

Avelar and Gentri (Legend of Arcadia) are bodymates. Gentri is the God of Nature, Avelar a man of science, and in an effort to turn himself into a God he fused the soul core of one into him and became permanently bound to the deity. Gentri detests him at first, trying to do anything and everything he can to remove himself from the semi-mortal prison, but eventually grows to understand and even like Avelar as a person. He learns of human fear, mortality, abandonment, and while he wishes to be a separate person he grows to enjoy the man's company... especially after several decades of Avelar furiously trying to find a way to undo his mistake. Their trope is enemies to reluctant friends to lovers.

Sterling and Rez/Rezykai (Benevola) are acquaintances by necessity at first. Sterling is a merc who takes jobs others don't want, and when he's asked to transport Rez across the border he nearly refuses. But he does it anyway, and goes from being barely involved with his political drama to integral and attached. They're both idiots and bicker constantly, but they both care deeply about the other and would kick anyone's ass for touching them. Sterling is cold and Rez is a tsundere and together they're hilarious and insufferable.

All of these ocs have spanned the course of my entire artistic life. Tamara and Judas for example I drafted up in 2007, while Saber and Lux are my most recent mainstay duo having been created in 2023. I love my ocs a lot and I could go on and on about them forever if prompted. (pls send me asks about my ocs lol)

if you got this far tysm i cherish you <3

[pretensesoup]

Queer Books 2024: Old Time Religion

I have been trying to figure out how to talk about Old Time Religion.

The problem is that it's the second book in a series, which makes it a little confusing if you haven't read the first. I think you probably could jump in here, but it's not quite the same as reading The Restaurant at the End of the Universe without having read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy first. The relationships you're jumping into are a little more complex. But regardless, I'm going to give it a go, because I was recently called out for not mentioning the sequel, and to do that, I kinda need to explain how we got there.

So. I knew when I wrote Dionysus in Wisconsin that Ulysses was bi/pan. I won't go into detail about my specific associations with each of those sexualities because as a person who is myself pansexual, I'm not sure of the difference all the time. Also, I don't recall hearing the term pansexual in use until about 2004 (when I said, "Why do we need that?" Then about 12 years later...) So it felt historically inaccurate to call Ulysses (and many of the other bloodline magic people) pansexual. On the other hand, since I wrote that, I've also written various non-binary characters who use the singular "they" as their pronoun, which is also historically inaccurate (not the non-binary part—of course nb/agender always existed, and so did the singular they, but as far as I can tell it was more likely that they'd use neo pronouns or some other arrangement up until relatively recently). So pick your poison, I guess? 

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. When we meet Ulysses in DIW, he's hot and single, but he's not going out with a lot of people. He's actually keeping to himself to the point where Celeste is a little bit concerned about him and how shut off from being an integrated whole person he is. So I knew he'd had someone in the past who had messed him up a little bit, and it turned out to be a woman named Livia. 

Livia is a character that I like much better than almost anybody who has read the novel. My mother read OTR and when I mentioned one of the characters from it was coming back for book 5, which will be the grand conclusion of the Julius Sterling Arc, she was very emphatic that it not the Livia coming back unless she did a lot of apologizing. I thought that was interesting because as a writer, you wind up with these different perspectives on the characters and the work. I think it's necessary to be more sympathetic to what everyone is trying to accomplish if you want to write a really human story. Of course there are always villains like the Empire in Star Wars or, I don't know, Dr. Octopus, who are hard to sympathize with, and probably if I were writing them I'd also find them hard to sympathize with. But I always try. And I liked Livia a lot. I like her snappishness, and her refusal to be cowed by Ulysses, who is really a great dude but has very emphatic opinions about things. I like her willingness to try dangerous things to get what she wants.

That's the background. And then Livia shows up at the beginning of Old Time Religion. (I hope that doesn't sound like a spoiler. It's chapter one.) She wants things. She's a little bit ruthless. And Sam and Ulysses have to work out how to deal with her, and how to deal with each other at a time during which the way that they connect is changing. They have a deepening relationship because they've been together for about 6 months at this point, but also they are learning that they may have some magical connection. Don't have sex with gods, I guess, is the lesson. If there's one lesson we could take from all of Greek mythology I think that would be it, it's don't get involved with God's in a sexual way. Unfortunately Ulysses doesn't listen.

Of course the provenance of books is people who make bad choices, and no one makes worse choices than PhD candidates. And Ulysses is amply taken to task for this at various points. 

Quote from Troth:

“Is that what you were trying to tell me about, back in April?” She snorted. “Ah, yes.” Lesko sat back in her chair. “That’s right,” she said, in a dry tone. “What did I say? Is this wise? And you told me—what was it again?” “That it was a fait accompli.” Dr. Lesko nodded, lips pressed together. “In other words, you were given a warning, which you chose to ignore, presumably because you were horny.”  Ulysses briefly wondered if he could just die where he sat in order to escape from this.

Livia's appearance makes Sam incredibly jealous, which is also an emotion he doesn't deal with very well. Key quote:

"Ulysses was with someone else," he said, in the too-earnest way he had after too many drinks. "A lady." Harry shrugged. "So?" Sam leaned forward as though imparting a secret. "He also likes women," he said carefully. Harry, sitting across from him, looked unmoved by this revelation. Ellen was carefully peeling the wrapper off of her beer bottle. "Sam, I thought it was going well between you guys," she said, with probably more patience than he deserved. "What's the worry here? Did you talk about going steady?" "No, because this isn't a production of Bye, Bye, Birdie," Sam snapped, and then immediately felt bad. Ellen punched him in the arm, not gently.

And at the end, I wrote about the one time I dropped acid.

No. Uh. But there is some drug use. And Ulysses defends his PhD. And there's a musical version of Macbeth that @tryxhyjinks helped me write songs for. And despite my inability to talk about it, I think it's an excellent novel. 

That brings me to book 3, Troth, which is coming out October 7th. (Muffled screaming.) There's a lot to like about Troth, but in the interests of not spoiling anything, I'll just say it brings Ulysses's brother Laz back from the war. Laz is the type of pathetic little meow meow that authors love, and I love every moment of his appearance, and he gets his own book later (book 4, Lazarus Home from the War, will be out in 2025). Troth is currently up for preorder in ebook and will be available in paperback on the day and thereafter. You can find all three books here (Amazon) or here (B&N).

[bloodmaarked]

babel, or the necessity of violence: an arcane history of the oxford translators' revolution // r.f. kuang

first published: 2022 re-read: 26 may 2024 – 10 june 2024 first read: 2023 pages: 542 format: hardback

genres: fiction; adult; fantasy (urban/magical realism); historical fiction favourite character(s): don't make me pick just one least favourite character(s): again, i can't choose (because they're all brilliant)

rating: 🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕 thoughts: haters will hate but they will never make me hate this book! i didn't realise i'd read babel the first time around so recently (about this time last year) - i guess i was that eager to read it again, and luckily it was just as good the second time around. most times on reread my opinion shifts slightly lower or higher, but i couldn't not give babel the full 5* once again.

r.f. kuang seems to be a bit of a divisive figure, and especially at one of my book clubs where babel and yellowface have their fair share of critics and fans. having been exposed to more of the criticism, i did go into this with a more open mind, but i have to say that i didn't see it... and maybe this book/kuang's writing is just something you either enjoy or don't. in terms of my own experience, i found babel to be a sharp and scathing critique of complacency and complicity within not just the British empire of the 1800s, but the power structures of today. it's told with the most wonderful cast of characters in a rich world that i felt immersed in from start to finish. i adored the realism of the fantasy and the way it was conducted via silver bars which were deeply integrated into the way the world worked.

i love, love, love the dark academia style of writing, both in the atmosphere of the world, and the academic style of writing. the writing was atmospheric and gorgeous, the tonal shifts between the beauty of oxford and the ugliness of the people who made it the institution it is captured perfectly. r.f. kuang loves her characters, and it really comes through in her writing. being with the cast, especially the core four, was like a warm hug. the title itself is just ridiculous in the best way, and i enjoyed the additional context contained in the footnotes, which were a really cool addition for a work of fiction. (i will say the asterisks were a little harder to find on the print edition i read this time around than they were on the e-book edition i read last year.)

i also have to give props to the research that had to have gone into the writing of this book, including the historical context and the etymological study. i was floored.

my wish is to have a griffin(/sterling) backstory, or a victoire sequel, but i doubt we'll ever get it :'(

the emotional beats didn't hit any less on reread, and that last chapter had my heart pumping hard. this is honestly a story that sits close to my heart and i see myself rereading this a thousand times. it may not be for everyone, but it's definitely for me and i couldn't be happier. you can read my original review for babel here.

[laserdiscnvhs]

Double Impact remains amongst the seminal works of action films that can be credited to the sterling prowess of Jean-Claude Van Damme. Inarguably, the film is a tour-de-force that sets a high bar for an extensive sequence of action-packed content. It successfully integrates critical elements such as choreographed combat and an orchestrated narrative to invariably result in a visual feast for action enthusiasts.

The visiting card for Van Damme’s marquee talent has always been his unparalleled martial arts skills. The film, Double Impact, is no exception to this, providing an outlet for Van Damme to truly showcase his articulate control over martial arts sequences. His performance as the twin brothers, Chad and Alex Wagner, is a remarkable specimen of his capacity to deliver comprehensively. These two character roles illustrate the wide range an actor can play within the confines of a single movie, demonstrating impressive versatility.

Chad is portrayed as a light-hearted, jovial character, while Alex, his twin brother, has a darker, sterner aura about him. Van Damme manages to give each twin a distinct personality, proving his acting mettle beyond just his physical exploits. His brilliant execution of the two disparate roles significantly enhances the film's plot and makes it a gripping journey from the start to finish.

The narrative, presented in Double Impact, is marked by an intriguing set of plot developments. Built on the classic story of revenge, it takes an interesting turn as it uses the most vintage formula of the 'long-lost twin' trope. However, the trope is employed innovatively, not allowing the narrative to be hampered by any possible accusations of cliché or triteness.

As the twins accidentally stumble upon each other and subsequently, discover their shared past, the narrative escalates into a thrilling tale of action and adventure. The clever weaving of familial relationships into the tale, ties extremely well with the mechanics of action sequences. It enables the audience to invest more deeply into the violent pursuits unfolding on the screen.

As remarkable as Van Damme's performance, the film equally capitalises on its keen vision for choreography and cinematography. The fight sequences are crafted to perfection, with a striking balance of finesse and raw power, making each moment a fascinating spectacle. The iconic scene where the two twins take on the mafia is intensely breathtaking and stands as a testament to the choreographer’s prowess.

The film’s landscape is as dynamic as its characters, marching to the exciting rhythm of an international chase. From Los Angeles to inventively replicated streets of Hong Kong, the film offers a vibrant canvas for its action-filled spectacle. This constant change of scene injects a fresh breath of vitality into every shot, keeping the viewers hooked at every turn.

The director, Sheldon Lettich, who co-wrote the film with Van Damme, plays a pivotal role in realising the visions conceived. His mastery over staging action scenes and his acute style of direction brings to life the vital elements of an action film. The narrative and the action are seamlessly blended through his proficient sense of storytelling.

On the flip side, critics could argue some scenes are over-extended and some dialogues saturated with cinematic clichés. However, even these elements contribute towards knitting the film into its chosen genre, providing an authentic action movie experience to the viewers.

Double Impact delivers on the promise of an engaging, thrilling experience, driven by the compelling storyline, unique characterisation, and superbly choreographed action sequences. These combined with Van Damme's incredible performance as the twins, Chad and Alex, make the movie a turning point in the action film genre.

Jean-Claude Van Damme, with Double Impact, has indubitably etched his standing in the timeline of action films. The movie does not merely entertain but also impresses its audience with the craft involved in making such high-octane action films. It showcases an amalgamation of bold storytelling, powerful acting, meticulous choreography and an engrossing narrative setup. This combination of skilled execution and an action-packed storyboard ensures that Double Impact leaves an imprint in the minds of the audience, even long after its credits roll.