#still books are objectively better but

[aleclightofmylifewoodbane]

thinking ab the last neg comment i got on my books are better post ab tsc. when i literally am so excited about kat dom and matt working together on something again. yall assume i dont enjoy the show or the actors 😭😭 its cringe and objectively bad but it was EVERYTHING to me too fr. yall hate me and i dont hate you 😭

[s1lv3rp4w3dc4t]

shout out object shows with canon queer ships. I'm talking on screen kiss or even just verbal confirmation. all things considered it's a bit strange you don't really see them that much when you think about how gay everyone here is. I love you ii but c2bc did what you didn't and I think that's actually really nice.

[hoofpeet]

I'd probably have to read the printed version and web version back to back at some point to note all the differences but... ough

[not-poignant]

For t/f: I assume you’re a huge advocate for physical books over ebooks??

False!

~

Ebooks are hugely accessible, and as someone with massive RSI issues in my wrists (partly from writing), holding heavy books and the repetition of turning pages can be literally agonising, and can even lead to me needing surgery one day for tendon release.

I do love physical books, and I have a large collection that I'm very proud of, and weed on a yearly basis. But I absolutely am not an advocate for them over ebooks, let alone a huge one. Ebooks have been such a game-changer for anyone with accessibility issues.

Readers no longer have to rely on publishers being grudgingly generous enough to offer books in large fonts if they have visual processing issues. They can change the font (most of the time) on an e-reader. Readers no longer have to lug around extremely heavy nonfiction books, and can save their backs and wrists. Readers who live in very small or cramped spaces because of poverty or other reasons no longer have to deal with 'where do I keep all these books' because some of them (or all of them) can be ebooks. Also, almost always - with mostly the exception of some university texts - they're cheaper. What a win!

On an accessibility level, ebooks win every time, especially now that we have so many lighting options so that people don't have to put up with backlight etc. anymore. They highlight just how previously ableist the publishing industry has been around visual accessibility and joint strain accessibility.

So I'm mostly a hardcore advocate of people reading how they want to read. A hybrid mix. Only audio. Only ebook. Only paperbacks. Only hardbacks. Some combination of the four.

I love the smell of books, but I don't love the dust. I love having them organised in my library, but I don't love the eternal problem of never really having enough room. I love my ebook collection, but I sometimes forget to check into it. I love that I can get very large nonfiction tomes in ebook form, but sometimes I find them harder to highlight etc. because there's something visceral to me about dragging a highlighter or pencil across a page. Everything has its pros and cons.

But ebooks beat out literally everything else except audio for accessibility (though I can't do audio ironically because of accessibility, lmao, my auditory processing for language isn't great).

[britneyshakespeare]

I have to be so honest and vulnerable with you for a second. I keep thinking of getting another complete works of Shakespeare

[child--ish]

um. Um. UM???

WHY IS THE TWISTED WONDERLAND TRENDING. AGAIN.

[goodmorning-hello]

Just modified the page layout for my journal/planner to make for next year, excited to try to bust it out before the year is almost half gone again (lol oops) and to actually use it for the whole year before just totally falling off the wagon altogether. Again. (lol OOPS).

Further modifications to be made include building a page marker that is also a sort of birds'-eye view of the weekly and monthly goals, bc if they're not in front of my eyeballs. They don't exist. Which was a big flaw of the first version bc i would just deadass forget about goals that extended farther than like a week, bc i have Future Does Not Exist, Only Now Is Relevant brain malfunction.

Also the first one where i tried to fit most of the year with full spreads for daily entries was mmmmm Unwieldy, so I'm debating whether to maybe pare it down to multiple books of Chunks of the year (quarters seems too small to bother, thirds seems awkward as a measurement of time, halves seems reasonable but maybe moving back into too big????) And the (theoretical) advantage of having the whole year in one book, was being able to flip forward to mark down appointments in the Distant Future so i don't forget them, so i would need to find a way to tailor that functionality (in a way i wont ALSO forget to follow through on)

Many musings for fun diy challenges, but i have no time and less money to follow through so i just sit here and sulk

[quietwingsinthesky]

but like speaking seriously. i genuinely, truly wish this was still the age of terrible shovelware games and not. whatever the fuck is happening now between the mobile gaming market, microtransactions, and. the everything of it. it’s not that shovelware is good, it’s that it’s interesting! it’s not any less corporate in its goals, but it’s less… evil? you know? you pay for shovelware game, you still get a game, as terrible as it might be. it won’t have ads in it, it won’t ask you to pay more money once you’ve bought it, it’ll just be almost innocently terrible on its disc in its entirety, entertaining to shit on with friends and an enigma as to what went into its creation. i have a genuine little place in my heart for awful tie-in games, especially when you can tell that for however bad they are, there was one person on that team that you can tell gave a shit. (and sometimes there wasn’t. but that’s still fun. the game still had to be made, someone still had to make choices about it’s creation, and those choices can be fascinating!)

[wiltking]

50% through Painter Knight. read over 100 pages today so theres still something here that im enjoying obviously, just difficult not to compare it to stone prince which was so extremely Me coded. as interesting as the story and characters are this time around i still crave the emotional depth present in Demnor's no good nightmare hellish adventure of a sad life. but thats just me :(

[g0dtier]

im getting the english translation of de materia medica for my birthday and i am SO excited because its so fucking hard to find

[the-mirror-of-marianne-sheridan]

Sharp objects as a book-to-mini-series adaptation actually isn’t bad so far, I appreciate Amy adams’ subtle accent because it’s much more accurate for small town-to-city people

[pynkhues]

I'm that last anon and I'm all for the long answer :3 love to read your ramblings so don't feel afraid to go overboard. it's very welcomed 💖

Ah, great! I might get to it this afternoon, but we'll see how long I'm in the office for today.

[ravencromwell]

I have to add Archivist Wasp and its sequel Latchkey by Nicole Kornher-Stace. (Both those links lead to Weightless Books, an arm of the incomparable Small Beer Press that sells drm-free versions of numerous small presses' books for ease of reading and to avoid the amazon monster; to tout the awesome of Small Beer and Mythic Delirium, both primarily responsbiel for publishing Kornher-Stace would be a post of its own, but look them up if you're unfamiliar because they've provided some of the most envelope-pushing, queer-heavy scifi of the last decade.) Archivist Wasp is in the "destroyed earth" rather than the space category of scifi and...well, Amal El Mohtar can sell it better than I ever could:

An Archivist has two jobs. The first is to hunt and catch ghosts in order to learn about the precataclysm past from them; the second is to defend her life and position against “upstarts” — the other girls marked by the goddess Catchkeep’s claw-shaped scars at birth — once a year. Wasp has been Archivist for three years, and wants nothing more than to escape a dismal life of killing her sisters and obeying the Catchkeep-priest — so when an unusually powerful ghost asks her to help find his former partner in the underworld, she agrees. But, as is so often the case with the underworld, she finds both more and less than she bargained for. More than anything else, this book is sharp. You could cut yourself on the prose — Wasp’s world is one of thorns, knives, edges of thick, broken glass, a constant background-hum of pain that sometimes swells into a shout. Wasp’s perspective absolutely thrums with tension and violence, but also aches with a fierce, hollow loneliness to break the heart. The longing and gratitude for the smallest beginnings of true friendship make the betrayals more vicious, and the stakes just keep rising. I burned through this book in about three hours, desperately rooting for her. It’s also a brilliantly constructed narrative and world. The gods are cruel and absent. The underworld is a maze in layers, a twisting, turning palimpsest, one that allows Wasp to descend almost archaeologically through time by literally experiencing her ghost-partner’s memories. The pre- and post-apocalyptic worlds reflect each other in shards and fragments, all the more powerful for being subtle, for their resistance to being spelled out. It was also keenly refreshing — especially in something that’s ostensibly YA, where the Love Triangle of Doom is so annoyingly pervasive — to find a book in which all of the strongest, primary relationships are friendships; where friendship has the narrative, motive force usually reserved for sexualized romance. I very much wanted to see the A in QUILTBAG represented in this column, and this is a fine example: while the connection between the ghost and his (female) partner is intense and loving, it is never represented as sexual, and sex is in fact completely irrelevant.

Sci-fi books where a queer woman has the ghost of an annoying dead guy in her head

*Misery is nonbinary (she/they) and who’s in her head is not dead or a guy but I’m counting it, okay

[midmith]

I feel like the only motherfucker on this planet who thinks Fire & Blood is a good book AND House of the Dragon is a good show

[pineapple-downside-up-cake]

I am historically quite bad at longfic. But for the one person who requested this: we're giving it a go! Expansion of this

Ghostxfem reader. No warnings this chapter.

PROLOGUE:

Ella the Enchantress had nails like ambergris and a cunt like a steel trap, with a personality to match.

Feared for her tempestuous nature and reviled for a demonstrable lack of empathy, enlisting the assistance of this witch-cum-altruist was an exercise in self-flagellation.

Ella enjoyed attention.

Her preferences varied with the weather, but speculation had it that her skills as a seductress far outstripped her talent with magic. A modern medusa, the wrong look could chain a petitioner to her, life and limb, for as long as she so pleased.

The right look was frequently difficult to come by - Ella wasn't always naked, but she was never far away.

Not that they'd regret looking, necessarily. She was certainly skilled. But she left marks, had a way of destroying livelihoods and relationships.

Her real name was Sally, and she was technically a sorceress.

A relationship with her would be akin to juggling a live grenade, and that would be stupid.

Ghost isn't stupid.

He just likes living on the edge. And sex.

For all her failings as a member of civilized society, Ella was hot. The aforementioned cunt didn't hurt, either.

Bit of a vindictive bitch, though.

"Y'know where the door is. Y'can let yourself out."

Ghost is brave for a man with all his softest bits hanging out.

Then again, the soft bits were always her favorite part of him - it certainly wasn't his personality or emotional fluency.

At least he knows what to do with his dick.

Sally storms through the apartment in a manner more literal than metaphorical, fuming with hot embarassment and anger, as she stomps her legs into the suggestion of a dress she was wearing when she'd seduced him.

Ghost doesn't notice. He's already dismissed her, rolled back over to her side of the bed and buried his face in the pillow instead of her lap.

That rat bastard. How dare he!

She's Sally Le Fucking Fay, great-great-great-great-great...great step-granddaughter of Morgen le Fay, and she cannot believe she made the mistake of handing her self-worth to a man.

No - that she can believe.

What she can't believe is that Ghost of all people would so callously reject her charm. He was an unlovable bastard, with no family and no prospects, and she had lowered herself to take him into her willing bosom.

And he had still turned her away.

She seethes the whole way home, ignoring the way her anger makes her magic flare around her. The scum of the night scramble out of her way, keen to avoid a gale that rips lids from trash cans and sends them careening into the nearest stationary object.

Sally has care to spare for one thing and one thing only. Usually it's herself. But tonight, it's going to be retribution.

Big hard man. Ha.

She'll show him.

Ghost peeks out from under his arm when he finally feels the front door shake the foundation - he's not entirely convinced she won't come back, and he's not as fearless as he'd like to pretend.

His room is a mess. Even more-so than after a normal night of athletics. Ella had imposed herself upon him for a week, and he'd tried every trick in the book to get her to leave.

He'd even turned down sex. Twice.

He'd seen it on the horizon, but he'd really thought the sorceress would take it better. It was part of the agreement - no feelings, blah blah blah, not ready for anything else.

She didn't want a man to cramp her witchy vibes, and he didn't want someone asking more of him than he was ready to give.

And then she'd decided they were "the perfect match" and they were "fated for each other", like characters in some cutesy Disney tale, and not who they really were -

A morally grey sorceress with reality debt, and an emotionally constipated weapon of destruction.

He'd had to pull out the big guns: alas, "it's over" didn't go over too well.

She'd nearly destroyed his room - it had rained, and if she wasn't so mad he'd have been worried about her flooding the basement. As it was, she'd steamed him like a shellfish.

He slips out of bed and sneaks over to the door, an intruder in his own home, afraid to summon her by accident. He'd kill for a good night's sleep, without hands crawling down his pants, but the climate in his room is unbearable.

The couch is good enough.

If he makes it through the week without hellfire raining down on him - literally - he's going to take a break from women.

He should have listened to Soap.

[wordsofwhimsy]

🅲🅾🅽🅲🆁🅴🆃🅴 🅵🅻🅾🆆🅴🆁🆂 pt. 2

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

PAIRING: Sinister!Mark Grayson x Reader

WARNINGS: Abusive/Possessive behavior, Smut, Language

INSPIRED: by the song “luther” by Kendrick Lamar & SZA

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

♫♪ In this world, concrete flowers grow Heartache, she only doin' what she know … ♫♪

“So how was your day?”  Your knife glided with ease through the steak on your dinner plate.  Taking up your fork, you took a bite.  Cooked to perfection, you think.  You savored the taste.

“Tedious,” Mark responded dryly, devouring his meal with much less mindful intention.  “You’d think these people would have learned by now—why do they keep resisting?”  You could think of a million reasons to give him as an answer, but after so many months you’d finally learned that these types of questions were strictly rhetorical.  Mark sighed, setting down his silverware and looking at you from across the table. “I’m just glad to be home with you.”  You didn’t meet his stare, instead choosing to keep your eyes fixed on your food.  “You look beautiful.”

Your face flushed at his words. “Thank you,” you responded softly, brushing your hair behind your ear and glancing briefly up at him.  Mark watched you with unbridled intensity.  Despite everything that had transpired over the past half year, you still found yourself absolutely enamored by his charm.  The thought of this riddled you with guilt.  How could you still be so attracted to him considering all of the heinous acts he had – and continued – to commit?  What did that say about you?  A familiar sickness bubbled in your stomach; your appetite suddenly gone.  You set down your utensils and let go of a quiet breath.

“Done eating?” He questioned.  You finally gave him your full attention, offering a weak smile and nodding your head.

“It was delicious.  Give Jacques my regards.”  Mark couldn’t understand why you insisted on giving praise to the chef who cooked for the two of you, but then again, he didn’t understand a lot of human things anymore.  To him, Jacques was nothing more than a tool to be used.  An object that Mark possessed and would do away with once it stopped meeting his expectations.  You constantly wondered if he viewed you in the same light.

“Let’s go to bed then.  It’s been a long day.” You hum in agreeance and wait patiently as he stands from his seat and makes his way over to you.  The shackle around your ankle was unlocked, and although it wasn’t tight you still felt relief from its removal.  Its restraint was replaced by Mark’s hand, gently resting on the back of your neck.  This of course was an even better measure of security than the chain could ever be.  You did your best to take your time heading to the bedroom.  This was, after all, the space you spent nearly all of your time.  Whenever Mark was off suppressing the world, you were kept on a chain connected to the bed which was just long enough for you reach the conjoined bathroom.  When he was home you were freed from the shackles, but even that privilege was only recently acquired.

Despite your best efforts, you’d reached the bedroom in less than a minute.  He guided you to the foot of the bed where you took a seat and he stood in front of you, looking down.  His mask was off but he was still dressed down in his costume.  You brought your hands together in your lap, subconsciously making yourself as small as possible.  Mark could hear your heart thudding rapidly in your chest, and he couldn’t help but smirk.  He knew you weren’t ready to admit it, but you craved him.  Deeply, in an almost primal sense.  This was how he knew you truly belonged to him, and he loved it. “So what have you been up to today?” His question seemed cruel, considering the circumstances.

“I finished the book I was reading,” You responded, choosing not to play into his cruelty.  A small, but genuine smile painted your face. “It had a beautiful ending.”  This was a true statement.  You’d actually cried, rather hard for quite a while after it was over.

“That’s nice, maybe you can tell me about it later.” You nodded your head as he slowly puts himself on his knees in front of you, his hands now resting on your thighs. His thumbs rubbed small, slow circles on your sensitive skin causing your breathing to stutter. “You were on my mind more than usual today…”

“O-Oh…?”

“Mhmm.” Mark leaned down and planted a soft, lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh.  The physical euphoria this small gesture gave you was unreal.  “I couldn’t stop thinking about these legs of yours…” he murmured into your supple flesh before kissing up further, the bridge of his nose pushing the fabric of your dress back as he went.  Your hands writhed around themselves as you closed your eyes and leaned your head back, fighting to manage your emotions.  Your thoughts were like a broken traffic light, rapidly flashing from STOP to GO over and over again.

As if reading your mind Mark abruptly pulled away, leaving you reeling as you reopened your eyes. Focusing your vision you found him still on his knees in front of your, but his expression read of wild hunger and desperation.  “I need you, [Name].” His hands moved from your thighs to your hips as he raised up on his shins.  Your hands instinctively moved to overlap his as you responded,

“I’ll always be yours.”  Mark felt a high hearing you say this.  He continued to slowly creep up the edge of the bed, his fingers moving to gently touch every part of your body until he completely overtook you.  Your hair fanned out around you as you stared up at him with large doe eyes.  You looked so innocent.  A true wonder that needed to be protected and kept safe.  Just the sight of you overwhelmed his senses.  “Take me,” you breathed in a weak whisper, setting Mark completely over the edge.  Moving as fast he could manage he stripped himself of his suit and you of your panties, opting to keep your loose fitting dress on.

Positioning himself at your entrance, your eyes raked over the immaculate contours of his chest, shoulders, and arms.  He truly did put the Greek statues to shame.  You could feel his tip rubbing back and forth over your slit, pressing for a moment on your most sensitive part eliciting a pathetic plea from you. “Please baby… Don’t make me wait….”  The combination of your innocent expression and sultry words was more than he could take.  Sliding into you felt like entering into nirvana.  He kept the rhythm slow at first as his hands palmed your breast through the fabric of your shirt—no bra of course, he preferred you never have them on for this exact reason.  Your legs were delicately wrapped around his low back, urging him to stay close to you. 

After a moment his hand slipped down your stomach and between your two sweating bodies to your clit, where he rubbed circles with calculated pressure.  You moaned and writhed beneath his masterful touch, your reaction encouraging him further.  “You’re such a good girl,” he praised huskily. “You make me so proud, always taking it so well.”  His praise made you even wetter and he could tell. “Cum f’me baby girl.  You can do it, you’re almost there.”  And cum you did in a panting, sweating flurry.  Your walls squeezing around him was indescribable. 

But the night was far from over of course, with the stamina of a viltrumite he could last for hours.  In a swift motion Mark flipped you both over so he was on his back and you sat on top.  His hands gripped your thighs tightly as he thrust up into you and he bounced you easily on his hard length.  “Maaark~” you cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

“Just bounce on it f’me baby, you’re doing s’good,” he encouraged.  “Just like that, you got it.”  You gave it your best go, although you were still so stimulated and reeling from the orgasm you’d just experienced.  These sexual moments would happen regardless of your opinion, and you found that getting as much enjoyment out of it as possible just made the most sense.  His hands traveled further back to grip your ass, giving him better leverage to pump into you.  You could swear that you were going to rip in half with how deep he was sinking into your cunt. “God you feel so good,” he breathed. “So so fucking good.”

“Ugh, M-Mark I don’t know how much more I can take!”

“Shh, you’ve got this baby just keep going.” His thrusts were becoming more aggressive as you had turned all but into a sniveling mess.  Switching positions once again in an instant, you found yourself flat on your stomach with your ass raised in the air as he railed into you from behind.  Your dress fell down to pool on the bed around your face, and you were grateful for the fact that your eyes were covered.  All of your senses were on overdrive and even the tiniest reprieve was still something.

“Tell me who owns this,” he demanded.

“You do,” your cried into the mattress, fingers gripped into the sheets for dear life.  This went on for what seemed like an unearthly amount of time, being tossed and flipped into every position imaginable and you reaching a climax countless times.  You were truly delirious in the moment when he finally reached his limit and finished inside you.  You both collapsed onto the bed, trying desperately to catch your breath.  Mark of course recuperated much quicker than you, and was putting you into a warm bath while you still found your body to be all but useless.  He cleaned you tentatively and with such sweet softness.  It was in moments like this that you remembered why you loved him.

This was the true duality of man, reflected perfectly in Mark Grayson.  These days he may have publicly rejected all of his humanity, but you still knew it to be there.  A violent, loving, controlling, gentle, possessive, generous creature was the perfect description of all of humankind.  He was a flower growing in concrete.  Confused, beautiful, and strong but trying to exist in a place that wasn’t meant for him.

This was why you would always love him.  Even if it meant hating yourself.