#the law of web novels

[vibeless15]

Nori Kibe

Some of my favorite AI artwork done for Nori Kibe, the main character of Coded Law.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Apple faces criminal sanctions for defying App Store antitrust order

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me at NEW ZEALAND'S UNITY BOOKS in AUCKLAND TODAY (May 2), and in WELLINGTON TOMORROW (May 3). More tour dates (Pittsburgh, PDX, London, Manchester) here.

Epic, makers of the wildly popular Fortnite video-game, have waged a one-company war against the "app tax" – the 15-30% rake that the mobile duopoly of Apple/Google take out of every penny we spend inside of apps.

Epic's own digital practices are hardly spotless: just this year, the company was caught cheating players – many of them children – with deceptive practices and had to refund over $72m:

https://www.ftc.gov/enforcement/refunds/fortnite-refunds

But in this fight, Epic is on the side of the angels. The 30% that Apple/Google sucks out of the mobile economy is a brutal tax, and not just on app makers. Patreon performers recently raised a stink when the company announced that it would be clawing back 30% of the money pledged by their supporters – that 30% surcharge is passed straight through to Apple/Google:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/8/12/24218629/patreon-membership-ios-30-percent-apple-tax

From independent news outlets to crafters selling their work out of small storefronts, all the way up to massive entertainment services like Disney Plus and Fortnite, the mobile cartel takes 30% out of every dollar, a racket they maintain with onerous rules that ban apps from using their own payment processors, or even from encouraging users to click a link that brings them to a web-based payment screen.

30% is a gigantic markup on payment processing. It's ten times the going rate for payments in the USA, already one of the most expensive places in the world to transfer money from one party to another. In the EU, payment processing typically runs 1%…or less.

But crafters, Patreon podcasters and small-town newspapers are in no position to fight Google and Apple. Instead, we get Epic, a multi-billion-dollar company that's gone to the mattresses to fight these multi-trillion-dollar companies. Personally, I dote on billionaire-on-trillionaire violence.

Epic was wildly successful. It mopped up the floor with Google, securing an especially punitive award from a judge who was furious that Google had destroyed evidence:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/12/im-feeling-lucky/#hugger-mugger

Epic also won against Apple, though not as thoroughly as it had with Google, because Apple had the commonsense not to get up to the kind of shenanigans that make federal judges very, very mad. In the Google case, the court found that Google had acted as a monopolist and ordered it to open up the payment system in Google Play, a direct blow to the Android app tax.

In the Apple case, the judge did not find that Google had acted as a monopolist, but did rule that the App Store's payment processing racket violated the law, and ordered Apple to end its own app tax:

https://techcrunch.com/2025/04/30/epic-games-just-scored-a-major-win-against-apple/

That's where things get gnarly. Apple is addicted to corrupt sources of income – like the tens of billions it illegally receives every year in bribes from Google make it the default search:

https://apnews.com/article/google-antitrust-search-engine-verdict-apple-319a61f20fb11510097845a30abaefd8

And it really, really loves the app tax. When the EU ordered Apple to allow third-party app stores (as a way of killing the app tax), the company cooked up a malicious compliance plan that was comically corrupt:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/06/spoil-the-bunch/#dma

So, the mere fact that a federal judge had ordered Apple to open up its app store to competing payment processors was not going convince Apple to actually do it. Instead, Apple cooked up a set of rules for third-party payment processing that would make it more costly to use someone else's payments, piling up a mountain of junk fees and using scare screens and other deceptive warnings to discourage users from making payments through a rival system:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/judge-rules-apple-executive-lied

That's the kind of thing that is apt to make a federal judge angry – and, as noted, angry federal judges can make life very hard for tech monopolists, a lesson Google learned when it destroyed key evidence in its Epic case. But Apple didn't just flout the court order – they lied about it to cover it up, and Judge Yvonne Gonzalez Rogers is furious. She held that Alex Roman, Apple's Vice-President of Finance, "outright lied under oath," and she has raised the possibility of criminal contempt penalties for Apple:

https://regmedia.co.uk/2025/05/01/pacer_epic_vs_apple_injunction_judgement.pdf

The judge further wrote:

This is an injunction, not a negotiation. There are no do-overs once a party willfully disregards a court order. Time is of the essence. The Court will not tolerate further delays. As previously ordered, Apple will not impede competition. The Court enjoins Apple from implementing its new anticompetitive acts to avoid compliance with the Injunction. Effective immediately Apple will no longer impede developers’ ability to communicate with users nor will they levy or impose a new commission on off-app purchases

In other words, any junk fees, any impediments to opening up third party payments, will be switfly and harshly dealt with. As of right now developers can start to build third-party payments into their apps and Apple cannot block them. It's the end of the app tax, a source of about $100b/year for Apple:

https://www.theregister.com/2025/05/01/apple_epic_lies_possible_crime/

The world is on fire and everything is terrible, but we are also living through the most consequential season in the history of the war on corporate tech power. Google has been convicted three times of being a monopolist and is almost certainly going to have to sell off Chrome, most of its ad-tech stack, and possibly Android. Meta just put up a pathetic showing in an equally serious antitrust case that could see it forced to sell off Instagram and Whatsapp:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/04/11/it-is-better-to-buy/#than-to-compete

Countries around the world have passed big, sweeping, muscular antitrust laws specifically aimed at smashing corporate tech power, like the EU's Digital Markets Act and Digital Services Act:

https://www.eff.org/pages/adoption-dsadma-notre-analyse

Most importantly, all of this is happening from the bottom up. There is no dark money campaign to fuck up the tech companies. The politicians and enforcers who are taking on Big Tech are being shoved from behind by billions of everyday people who are furious and refuse to take it any longer:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/04/10/solidarity-forever-2/#oligarchism

I am deeply grateful for the public servants who have championed this cause, but I also know that these people are the effect of our movement, not the cause. When Kier Starmer fires Britain's brilliant and effective top competition enforcer and replaces him with the former head of Amazon UK, that does nothing to tamp down the political outrage that Britons feel towards America's tech giants:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/22/autocrats-of-trade/#dingo-babysitter

All over the world, countries that passed IP laws to protect US tech interests in exchange for tariff-free access to US markets are grappling with the end of free trade with America. This represents a generational opportunity to pass laws that enable local technologists to jailbreak US tech exports and liberate their people from the extractive practices of Big Tech forever:

https://archive.is/CiBIz

There is nothing harder to stop than an idea whose time has come to pass.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/05/01/its-not-the-crime/#its-the-coverup

Image: Alex Popovkin, Bahia, Brazil from Brazil (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Annelid_worm,_Atlantic_forest,_northern_littoral_of_Bahia,_Brazil_%2816107326533%29.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

--

Hubertl (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:2015-03-04_Elstar_%28apple%29_starting_putrefying_IMG_9761_bis_9772.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

[queereads-bracket]

Queer Fiction Free-for-All Book Bracket Tournament: Round 4

Book summaries and submitted endorsements below:

Nimona by ND Stevenson

Nimona is an impulsive young shapeshifter with a knack for villainy. Lord Ballister Blackheart is a villain with a vendetta. As sidekick and supervillain, Nimona and Lord Blackheart are about to wreak some serious havoc. Their mission: prove to the kingdom that Sir Ambrosius Goldenloin and his buddies at the Institution of Law Enforcement and Heroics aren't the heroes everyone thinks they are.

But as small acts of mischief escalate into a vicious battle, Lord Blackheart realizes that Nimona's powers are as murky and mysterious as her past. And her unpredictable wild side might be more dangerous than he is willing to admit.

Graphic novel, fantasy, adventure, humor, secondary world, young adult

The Traitor Baru Cormorant by Seth Dickinson (The Masquerade Series)

Endorsement from submitter: "This book has all the sapphic women - and a hugely diverse cast of characters. Plus it has very ornate world-building and does a scathing critique of colonialism. With political intrigue and a will-they-won't-they relationship between certain characters."

Tomorrow, on the beach, Baru Cormorant will look up from the sand of her home and see red sails on the horizon.

The Empire of Masks is coming, armed with coin and ink, doctrine and compass, soap and lies. They’ll conquer Baru’s island, rewrite her culture, criminalize her customs, and dispose of one of her fathers. But Baru is patient. She’ll swallow her hate, prove her talent, and join the Masquerade. She will learn the secrets of empire. She’ll be exactly what they need. And she’ll claw her way high enough up the rungs of power to set her people free.

In a final test of her loyalty, the Masquerade will send Baru to bring order to distant Aurdwynn, a snakepit of rebels, informants, and seditious dukes. Aurdwynn kills everyone who tries to rule it. To survive, Baru will need to untangle this land’s intricate web of treachery - and conceal her attraction to the dangerously fascinating Duchess Tain Hu.

But Baru is a savant in games of power, as ruthless in her tactics as she is fixated on her goals. In the calculus of her schemes, all ledgers must be balanced, and the price of liberation paid in full.

Fantasy, epic fantasy, politics, secondary world, series, adult

[kumkaniudaku]

From Terrence, With Love

Summary: Terry goes out of his way for Patrice's Christmas gift.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: None.

Previous: TBT

MASTERLIST

"What about this one?" 

Terry paused his web search through pages of office accessories to look up at his mother-in-law as she pushed a stroller toward his spot in a winding line. Rosalyn held out her phone for him to examine what she thought was a perfect armchair selection, hoping that her seemingly endless pursuit could finally reach a conclusion.

He scanned the olive green item with a careful eye before ultimately shaking his head. "I like it, but she's into oranges and yellows for her creative spaces. That's too muted."

"Oh Lord, Terry. I love how dedicated you are to this, but I'll be doggone if this ain't takin' years off my life. You trynna get rid of me?" 

"No, ma'am," he chuckled as he stepped forward to make space for her beside him. "I just want it to be perfect. She's been wanting a little spot just for her, and I want her to love it, you know?" 

"That's very thoughtful. It's driving me and my baby crazy, but thoughtful nonetheless. Ain't that right, Nyla Bee?" 

Raspy giggles and loud shrieks from the 16-month-old sitting in her reserved seat made both adults smile. A combination of watered-down juice and cinnamon roll crumbs coated her cherub cheeks in a way that would make her mother shake with frustration if she were present. Though her grandmothers found the sight adorable, Terry knew the consequences coming if Patrice ever found out how much junk he'd allowed Nyla to consume in only a few short hours. 

Terry lifted Nyla from her seat and used a large hand to dust off her face to the best of his ability before peppering her cheek with soft kisses. She leaned into her daddy's affection, using all her might to hug his head. 

He laughed before giving her a final kiss with a loud 'mwuah' to boot. "We gotta get you a nap before we get home, little one." He turned to Rosalyn. "Treece call while y'all were away?" 

"You know she did, but don't worry, we didn't give you up. Dee got her off the phone by asking if she had a minute to talk about the church bake sale." 

"Mama doesn't go to church."

"Exactly."

Terry laughed. "Telling a fib here and there is her hidden superpower. "Where is she anyway?" 

"She stopped into that little children's boutique downstairs when she saw they had a sale going on." 

"Another one of her superpowers. There's not a discount on this Earth that she won't find."

"A woman that speaks my language!" 

A swell of chatter at the front of the line pulled Rosalyn and Terry's attention away from their conversation to crane their necks for answers. After nearly an hour of waiting, the guest of honor had arrived. 

Her long, greying sister locs swung in a low ponytail against her multicolored caftan as she waved enthusiastically at the crowd of fans eager to have a 90-second conversation with her. Terry couldn't say he was familiar with Sarraya Wylie's work, but he slept next to her biggest fan every night. Each of her novels had a place on Patrice's bookshelf, all with worn pages that had seen numerous turns in their lifetime. From stories of hidden Black civilizations in distant lands to essays about the importance of Afro-Futurism in literature, she'd been a staple in his wife's love of science fiction. 

So, when he heard from an online community group that she'd been in town causing traffic near the mall as part of her most recent book tour, Terry jumped at the opportunity to schedule time away and spend any money necessary to have her write a personal message to love of his life as part of an elaborate Christmas gift. 

He schemed and planned, telling little lies about his whereabouts for the afternoon and roping others into his tales. Her mother and his mother agreed to tag along as alibis and babysitters in one while he sent Patrice on her way to enjoy brunch and a movie with her girls. He figured if all else failed and his plan fell through, at least she'd be tipsy and full when he got home. 

Rosalyn hummed in approval of Sarraya. "Never thought I'd see her in person after all the money I've spent on her. Pretty lady." 

"And that dress is fabulous. I think I could make one at home if I get close enough to see the pattern." 

Diedra admired the author's outfit from afar as she approached the others with her phone in the air to snap a picture. 

Terry rolled his eyes and gently pushed her wrists to lower the device. "Ma, that's weird. You can't take pictures of strangers."

"Terrence, I am grown," she advised, cutting her eyes toward him. "Plus, I can't see the damn thing from here anyway." 

"Language in front of the baby, Mama." 

Noticing her mistake, DeeDee mouthed a sorry at her son before poking at Nyla's belly. 

"Maman's sorry for saying bad words that you don't understand, Pumpkin. Don't repeat any of this at home. Wait until you're at least 16."

"Or never. Maman's gonna get you in trouble with your mommy," Terrence corrected, his voice inflections changing into silly baby talk. 

Though generally playful and kind with her baby girl, Patrice was strict about what influenced Nylah's development. If anything penetrated the wall of carefully selected baby books and enrichment activities, there would be hell to pay, and Terry wasn't interested in footing the bill. 

DeeDee kissed her teeth while Rosalyn chuckled in the background. "You hear that, Ros? They start getting a little older and want to tell you what to do. Crazy, ain't it?" 

"He acts just like Patrice. My mama ain't been gone but a few months, and the Lord already sent me another one."

"We just care about y'all. You rather we leave you out in the cold?" 

"I'm just sayin' that you only just started raisin' babies," DeeDee answered as she stuffed a clothing bag into the stroller's undercarriage. "I raised you plus two more. I'll be alright." 

"Tell him again."

"I will be alright. But I'll always love you, my sweet boy." 

His mother's way of cleaning up verbal messes with sweet words made Terry grin and shake his head. A few hours with the two women responsible for his current life had taught him two things: he and Patrice hadn't been able to hide a single thing from them, and if Nyla inherited even a fraction of their personalities, he was in for a treat come her pre-teen years.

As they stood in a line that moved at a snail's pace, Diedra and Rosalyn detailed all the times they'd noticed the beginning of love between their children and had spirited discussions about who would pay for the eventual wedding and contingency plans should an accident arise. Terry listened with a mixture of shock and amusement, laughing at each new revelation and Nyla's need to feel included with her mix of real words and toddler babble. 

"So you knew about the whole graduation thing," Terry asked his mother as they inched forward.

"We had an idea because both of you wear your emotions all over your face," DeeDee laughed. "You couldn't let go of her. She couldn't stop smiling at you. I was prepared to physically separate y'all."

"Then here Dee comes callin' me and Leon talkin' about a baby fund and makin' you propose. It was a whole thing," Rosalyn laughed. 

Terry shook his head and adjusted Nyla in his arms, getting a good look at her furrowed brow as she toyed with the buttons on her father's jacket. Perseverant and singularly focused like her mother. 

"Nah, you didn't have to worry about that. Treece had already told me she wasn't saying yes to any proposal and wasn't having a single one of my kids before she graduated. You know how she is." 

"Mhmm. Good for her. Miles better than the other options you had rollin' through my kitchen every other year."

Rosalyn's eyebrows rose in amusement. "Oh yeah? I gotta hear this."

"Mom!" 

"What?" Diedra playfully elbowed Rosalyn, knowing full well that she was annoying her oldest child. She persisted with a sneaky smile. "I'm just saying I've never seen so many beautiful yet…simple young ladies in my life. What was the last one's name? Monique? Gorgeous girl. Empty head." 

Simple was the tip of the iceberg. A desire to escape the pain of losing Patrice and the folly of youth sent Terry down a winding road of pretty and vapid women. Every few months, he'd try to replicate the exciting bond he shared with his first love, only to find that she was, indeed, one of a kind. And no matter how he'd try to coach Alexandria, Constance, or Monet into the mold that Patrice had left behind, they never quite fit the bill. There were plenty of Donners and Blitzens. There was only one Rudolph. 

"Monique was not her name, but none of that matters. My baby is a scholar, and that's my favorite thing about her. That's why I'm standing in line with all these strange kids now."

Diedra and Rosalyn let Terry's comment pass without a response as they shuffled forward in line. For close to an hour, fanboys and girls alike filed up to the small black table to participate in the same sequence of events: quick hello, incoherent personal story, photo, repeat. 

Terry watched each interaction as he split his attention between his ladies and the action around them. He noticed every chat forcibly cut short by nearby security and every time Sarraya subtly rolled her eyes at an overzealous reader telling her about the "hidden" themes in work she poured over alone. He saw her begin to get agitated at the hour mark and ask for a break that was never granted. As time crept by and his accomplices took off in search of rest for weary feet and more interesting surroundings, he wondered how much longer he could entertain a toddler inside a bland bookstore. 

Against his better judgment, he gave in to the device demon and handed over his cell phone for animated Christmas videos to stretch the last bits of peace Nyla would allow. 

"Mommy!" Her voice penetrated Terry's thoughts as he rubbed his aching temples. 

He sighed before answering. "Not yet, baby. We should be home soon. I don't know why I'm sayin' that to you. It's not true, and you don't know what soon means." 

Nyla remained undeterred, continuing to chant for her mother until Terry opened his eyes to get a good look at what was causing the disturbance. In her hand, Patrice's smiling face took up his phone's entire screen as an incoming call caused the device to buzz against the drink tray attached to her stroller. He rushed to answer, hoping that she couldn't hear the commotion in the immediate area. 

"Hey, TJ," Patrice greeted, the words becoming muffled in the background noise pumping through her receiver. "You busy?" 

Her soft and small voice was a welcomed relief from the chaos and a clear sign of what she'd been up to in her afternoon absence. Terry smiled and matched her energy.

"Never too busy for you, baby. Everything okay?"

"Yeah. I just called to say I miss you and I love you. Do you still love me even though I'm gone?"

"Of course, baby. I love you all the time. Mean it," He answered, trying to bite back his smile and remain sincere. "Treece, you been drinkin'? Be honest with me." 

A long pause and a sniffle preceded her answer. "A little." 

A lot. 

On too many occasions, Terry found himself on the other end of a slurred phone call with Patrice, trying to decipher what was driving her into tearful confessions about nothing or full-on lyric screaming with her two friends as hype women. Today, she was fighting an emotional rollercoaster and the desire to sob in a restaurant bathroom.

"Oh, don't cry, baby. You're too pretty to cry off all the makeup you worked so hard on."

"Okay," Patrice answered, the pout still evident in her tone. "Why are you at the mall?" 

The sugar-sweet moment quickly took a wrong turn into blinding anxiety as Terry searched his brain for an answer. For all his careful preparation, turning off his location had seeped through the cracks. A lie would suffice. She was tipsy enough to believe him. But he hated lying to Patrice, especially after all the lying he'd done to shake free for the afternoon. He scrambled for an answer. 

"Uh, I stopped by to grab some lunch. Had to get away from the boys because I didn't wanna get hungry and mean." 

Patrice squealed at his mention of being near the food court, completely ignoring Terry's tale's shakiness in search of her own wish fulfillment. 

"Ohmygosh! Babe, can you get a picture of Sarraya if you walk by the bookstore? I heard she was there and I really need to see her. Please, please, please."

Terry chuckled at her excitement running head-on into his surprise and fought every urge to spill the beans. "I'll do what I can, okay? You be safe for me. Tell Vicky and Phee to bring you back home in one piece, or we gon' have a problem."

"Boy, ain't nobody worried about you!" 

"At all. You just big."

"Don't be worried about me. Be worried about my wife," He answered with a laugh just as an announcement from the front of the line caught his attention. 

The sudden screech of a microphone startled Nyla into a short scream that snuck past the safety measures Terry had put in place. Patrice threw herself into a tizzy at the sound.

"Is that a baby? Have you talked to Ny? Do I need to check on her again?"

Patrice's inebriated panicking forced Terry back into stress-induced sweating and an uncharacteristic stutter. "She - she's okay. I gotta go, baby. I'll call you back. Love you." 

Terry was sure he'd pay for hanging up so abruptly, but desperate times and a scared toddler required quick thinking. He rushed to lift Nyla from her seat and soothe her discomfort while craning his neck to hear the tail end of the announcement. 

"Sorry for the inconvenience, everyone. She should be back in about an hour. Someone is coming through the line to hand out numbers. We'll honor them when things resume. Thanks for your patience."

"An hour," Terry questioned as a young woman with red tickets approached. "Yo, I don't have an hour. We've already been here for a long time. What can I do?"

She shrugged and tore a piece from her roll. "Nothing really, dude. She said she needed a break, and I just work here during the holidays. You want this or not?"

The frustration boiling inside every cavity of his chest threatened to send Terry into a tailspin. He forced back his misguided desire to escalate the situation and pulled the scrap of paper from the young woman's hands with a huff. 

A look at solemn faces filing out of line gave him some hope that things might move faster when the time came while he considered his options. His fingers typed away at his phone screen, searching for the right mix of sob story and bribery to convince his conspirators to take Nyla and afford him another 60 grueling minutes of waiting, completely unaware of the tired woman and small entourage passing him by on the way to the back of the store. 

"Bye-bye!" Nyla's farewell was enough to grab her father's attention, but it resonated over the mixture of sounds in the immediate area to make Sarraya stop in her tracks and search for the source. Nyla made her presence known with her newest waving skill and a smile featuring only a few teeth. 

Sarraya waved back with equal enthusiasm. "No, this is hello, beautiful. Are you not the cutest little thing in the world?" 

With renewed energy, the author pushed her way past the large men flanking her to meet the only person who had excited her all day. Her approach and Nyla's enthusiastic wiggling finally earned Terry's attention just as Sarraya was close enough to speak. 

"What's her name?" she asked with a thick Philadelphia accent, her knees bent to get eye-level with Nyla.

Terry smiled. "This is Nyla Naomi. Say hi, baby."

Nyla didn't need the prompting. Ever the people person, she greeted and babbled for all to see, garnering a heartfelt chorus of 'oohs' and 'ahhs.' Sarraya seemed to melt at the excited greeting as she spoke back to Nyla as if she were old enough to carry a conversation. 

"And what brings you here to see me? Can you read already? I can tell you're so smart!" 

"She does love your books during storytime with her mama. We like to mix up the baby books with some more complex stuff every once in a while. Between Two Worlds is her favorite. The one where Malachi and Toriah try to communicate between Earth and the New World, right?" 

Maybe Terry had been listening to Patrice read more than he thought. His recollection of her third book's plot made Sarraya look up at him with a smile.

"Wow, a house full of fans. That's a first for me."

"All thanks to my wife," he chuckled as Nyla attempted to play peekaboo with her new friend. "She has your whole collection. Been a fan since our senior year of high school and now she's passing it down." 

Sarraya beamed at the information. "That is incredible. I'm glad to have you here today. May I?" 

Terry happily granted her request to hold Nyla, carefully transferring her between adults until she was comfortably in Sarraya's arms. When she was safe, Nyla gingerly laid her head on Sarraya's shoulder and popped her thumb into her mouth to self-soothe. Sarraya instantly hugged her tighter and pretended to cry. 

"This is the best thing to happen to me in weeks. She makes me miss when my babies were little."

"It's an amazing experience, right? She's our first." 

"You all are incredibly blessed." She smiled down at Nyla before dancing her fingers across her small belly to induce giggles. "I'd love to say hi to mom. It's the least I could do for all this trouble."

"Are you sure? I don't wanna hold you up from your break." 

"Oh, nonsense. Y'all are the first folks I've met all day who look like me and haven't tried to tell me what I meant with my words. Please, allow me to say thank you." 

Fifteen minutes of photos, videos, and a heartfelt message neatly written in script inside the book's front cover quickly became the most extravagant 'thank you' Terry had ever received. One day, when she was old enough, he'd tell Nyla about how her mere existence secured a gift for her mother. For now, she'd have to live with a forbidden taste of tart frozen yogurt from Terry, a flurry of kisses on her sticky face, and another talking stuffed animal for her services. 

By Christmas morning weeks later, Nyla was less interested in meeting a renowned artist and more concerned with the shrill music emanating from the brand new mini grand piano her Aunt Zorah had purchased. 

Heaps upon heaps of toys, clothes, and the like covered their living room floor to celebrate her first real Christmas and the family's first opportunity to see the day through the eyes of a small child. Junior sat on the floor beside her, comically rapping the ABCs into a small mic while Nyla plunked away at the keys to back him up. Both sets of grandparents searched for the perfect recording angle to grab sentimental momentos to show friends and coworkers in the new year. Her aunts and Imani happily put together outfits and folded clothes to help with the clean-up process. 

Terry and Patrice worked together in the kitchen to prepare for Christmas breakfast as they watched controlled chaos unfold in the next room. Terry tore his eyes away from the family to glance at Patrice, who leaned against the counter in a pajama set that matched his and Nyla's. She smiled at nothing in particular. 

He slowly wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her in for a kiss on the temple. "Sneak away with me right quick. I wanna show you something." 

An excited squeeze to her sides made Patrice turn in Terry's arms to get a better look at his smiling face. "I thought we were waiting until tonight for gifts together." 

"I'm callin' an audible." 

"You act like I know what that means." 

"C'mon, girl," he chuckled, lacing their fingers together to lead them out of the kitchen. "It'll be quick. Promise."

With all eyes on the superstar of the family, Patrice and Terry snuck past the commotion and down the hallway to their second spare bedroom. Terry's gentle instruction to close and cover her eyes was surprisingly met with no pushback and an excited wiggle from Patrice. No amount of carefully planned theatrics could hide the fact that she'd snooped long and hard to discover a secret Terry wasn't trying to hide. He was always a few steps ahead of his exceptionally nosey lover.

Patrice allowed Terry to gently push her into the room while she danced on her tiptoes. She listened for the soft click of the door closing and Terry's deep voice relaying directions. 

"You peekin'," He asked, a smile evident in his voice as he tapped her backside on his way to the other side of the room. 

"No, but I'm about to. Hurry!" 

Terry gripped her from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Let me give you my speech first. Act like we've been doin' this for a while." He listened to Patrice groan in impatient agony while he chuckled in her ear, purposefully drawing out the moment to get her back for sneaking behind his back. "I have always loved how much you love words and books. That's where we met. That's where I've seen you the happiest. And now, this is where I hope you'll wanna take your breaks and share the gift of reading with our little girl. Go ahead and look at your library, baby." 

Patrice voiced her excitement through a quiet squeal just as she lowered her hand to get a look at her new surroundings. Three floor-to-ceiling bookcases teaming with her favorite souvenirs and enough room to add more pressed against walls covered in beautiful wallpaper made the room look like a photo from Architectural Digest. She could tell where her mother-in-law had spent time arranging the pillows and blanket in her new reading chair and that some combination of her mother and Terry had chosen the perfect orange tone as a nod to her favorite color. 

A gallery wall above the guest day bed featured the faces of all her favorite people, with her husband and daughter from Nyla's first birthday party beaming in the center. A new record player and all her favorite records rested on a small console table fashioned into a bar to satisfy her craving for a secret cocktail or two on the weekends. She regarded it all with childlike wonder, bouncing from section to section as Terry watched from her armchair with a proud smile. 

"This is amazing, baby. Thank you so much," she finally complimented while bracing herself on his shoulders to settle in his lap. Terry's warm hand took a slow journey up the side of her thigh to rest on her backside with a gentle grip as she spoke against his mouth. "I promise to let you in here at least twice a week. Three times if you ask nice." 

"Mm, you just like to see me beg."

"No, baby, I love to see you beg. I hope I got that for Christmas, too."

Slow kisses, equally sweet and sensual, preceded another trickle of information. Terry pulled away first to speak. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"You know you can," she answered between small pecks to the corner of his mouth while she cradled his head, unwilling to part with his affection.

"This isn't the real gift." Patrice paused her worship to give Terry's wide grin a skeptical eyebrow raise. "I got you something else."

He watched the slow shift from confusion to joy as he dramatically lifted the carefully hidden collector's edition hardcover book from beneath their shared seat. 

"Honey," she cooed, her jaw dropping to make room for a loud gasp while she examined the front cover. "You got it! Did I tell you how much I wanted her new book or was this a guess?" 

"You might've said something over the phone once, but we don't have to rehash that. Take a look at the inside."

Eager fingers pried open fresh pages and an untouched book spine, introducing her to a handwritten message in beautiful cursive that she read aloud.

"Patrice - thank you for keeping the transformative power of literature alive with the next generation. I'm sorry we didn't get the chance to meet, but Nyla told me so much about you. Until next time, I pray The Creator becomes a new staple in your library. From Sarraya, Nyla, and Terrence with love."

"I'll save the video for tonight so we can cry together," Terry spoke before kissing Patrice's cheek. "She loved Ny. I think they have a coffee date scheduled for next week. I don't know if we're invited." 

Patrice laughed while flipping through the pages. "I'm gonna crash it, I don't care. They'll understand." 

Terry chuckled and squeezed tighter.

"Everything to your liking? I wanna make sure you're happy."

His usual search for praise and approval came with puppy-dog eyes that scanned Patrice's face for any sign of discontent. He found none - only the beginnings of a tearful smile conveying more than words ever could.

"You make me happy, Pooh. Sometimes, I don't do a worthwhile job of letting you know how much I appreciate you. Not for what you do, but for just being Terrence." 

"You do. And I love you the same. Always," he answered. His hold on her waist kept Patrice steady long enough for a short, tender kiss before her jittering in his lap was too much to tame. He used his thumb to swipe the bottom of her lip clean and smiled. "I know you can't wait to show Imani. Go ahead. Make sure you brag on me a little. It feels good." 

"Oh my God, finally! Moanie, girl, Sarraya, and I are besties! Look what my man got me!"

While Patrice rushed to talk a mile a minute about her favorite gift to date, Terry carefully reset the pillows in her chair to return her sanctuary to mint condition. He took a long look around the room, smiling at the work he'd accomplished until he stopped short at the door for a final once-over. 

His fingers flipped the switch as he mumbled an affirmation to himself. "Yeah, that's definitely enough for three visits a week. I don't know what the hell she talkin' about."

-------

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[maybe-boys-do-love]

It's wild that the whole global trend of gay-focused happy ending romance shows and movies has only been going on for *looks at calendar* a measly ten years!

Just ten years ago. 2014. That's when you get the discovery of a market for queer romance series and films with happy endings. That year the OG Love Sick in Thailand came out. Brazil puts out The Way He Looks, which deserves so much more credit than it receives for influencing the aeshtetics of the genre. Looking premieres on HBO, and although it had low ratings, it's an important touchstone. And, despite Nickelodeon’s censorship and shifting the program from tv to its website, the Legend of Korra confirms Korrasami in its season finale.

The next year, in 2015, we get Love Sick season 2, and China, pre-censorship laws has a few options: Happy Together (not the Wong Kar Wai one lol), Mr. X and I, and Falling In Love with a Rival. Canada, premieres Schitt's Creek. In the US, Steven Universe reveals Garnet as a romantic fusion between two female characters, and will proceed to just be so sapphic. Norwegian web series Skam premieres and sets up a gay protagonist for its third season, which will drop in 2016 and entirely change the global media landscape.

Then, 2016! This is the MOMENT. That aforementioned Skam season happens. Japan puts out the film version of Ossan's Love and anime series Yuri!!! on Ice. China has the impactful Addicted Heroine, which directly leads to increased censorship. The US has Moonlight come out and take home the Oscar. In Thailand, GMMTV enters the BL game and Thai BL explodes: Puppy Honey, SOTUS, Water Boyy, Make It Right, plus, the Thai Gay OK Bangkok, which, like its influence, Looking, is more in the queer tradition but introduces two dramatically important directors to the Thai BL industry, Aof and Jojo.

By 2017, Taiwan enters the game with its History series. Korea’s BL industry actually kicks off with Method and Long Time No See. Thailand’s got too many BLs to mention. Call Me By Your Name, though not a happy ending, makes a big splash that will send ripples through the whole genre, and God's Own Country offers a gruff counter-argument to problematic age differences and twink obsessions. This is also the year of Netflix reboot of One Day At a Time bringing some wlw to the screen, and the Disney Channel has a main character come out as ‘gay’ on Andi Mack ( I’m am ready to throw fists with anyone who thinks the Disney Channel aesthetic isn’t a part of current queer culture). And I'd be remiss not to mention the influential cult-following of chaotic web-series The Gay and Wondrous Life of Caleb Gallo: "Sometimes things that are expensive...are worse."

All this happened, and we hadn’t even gotten to Love, Simon, Elite, or ITSAY, yet.

Prior to all this there are some major precursors some of which signaled and primed a receptive market, others influenced the people who'd go on to create the QLs. Japan has a sputtering start in the 2010s with a few BL films (Takumi-Kun, Boys Love, and Jujoun Pure Heart). Most significantly in the American context, you have Glee, and its ending really makes way for the new era that can center gay young people in a world where queerness, due to easy access to digital information, is less novel to the characters. And the QL book and graphic novel landscape was way ahead of the television and film industries, directly creating many of the stories that the latter industries used.

There's plenty of the traditional queer media content (tragic melodramas and independent camp comedies) going on prior to and alongside QL, and there are some outlying queer romance films with happy endings that precede the era but feel very much akin to QL genre tropes and goals, many with a focus on postcolonial and multicultural perspectives (Saving Face, The Wedding Banquet, Big Eden, Maurice, My Beautiful Launderette, and Weekend). I don't mean to suggest that everything I’ve listed ought to be categorized as QL.

Rather, I want to point out how all of these new-era queer romance works are in a big queer global conversation together, in the creation of a new contemporary genre, a genre that has more capacity and thematic interest to include digital technology and normalize cross-cultural relationships than other genres (there's a reason fansubs and web platforms are so easily accepted and integrated to the proliferation of these series).

You're not too late to be part of the conversation. Imagine being alive in the 1960s and 70s and participating in the blossoming of the sci-fi genre. That flowering is where gay romance sits now. Join the party.

[intuitive-revelations]

Jumbled thoughts and theories on belief and metaphysical engines, the Nexus, and fate of the Web of Time...

"Do all those gods seriously exist (not just as alien fakes) in the DW universe? How did the Doctor supposedly meet them?"

Keep in mind, belief making something real is hardly a new theme for DW. The most obvious example for this would be belief in the Doctor being able to empower him in The Last of the Time Lords.

We also know that every story has a place in reality, with the Land of Fiction, not to mention the Doctor's own statement in The Gallifrey Chronicles:

"My dear, one of the things you'll learn is that it's all real. Every word of every novel is real, every frame of every movie, every panel of every comic strip."

But I hear you. Suppose, for example, we want a more concrete example of this applied to religion:

Look no further than the series I've long batted for: Class.

In "The Metaphysical Engine, or What Quill Did", Quill, Ballon and Dorothea literally travel into several afterlife realms using something called "the reliquary", or a "metaphysical engine".

DOROTHEA: This, as best we can tell, is a 'metaphysical engine'. QUILL: Metaphysics? Metaphysics aren't real. It's just thought. DOROTHEA: Everything in the universe is conserved. Everything. Even belief. Get millions of creatures believing something strongly enough for long enough and even space responds.

Quill even gets to meet (and fight) the goddess of her own people:

"Ok, so there is a device that can take you into a theoretical space where beliefs are real, you haven't answered how the Doctor is going about meeting these gods."

Is now a good time to mention that the metaphysical engine is bigger on the inside?

"Yeah, but so are a lot of things, even the Barber's ship..."

Except, there really is more here. Because the TARDIS itself is a metaphysical engine. Canonically. Explicitly.

In the First Doctor Short Trip "Every Day", the TARDIS actually ends up seemingly landing in a man's head, as he struggles to come to terms with his wife having an affair, which manifests as a time loop. Once it's broken, they suddenly find themselves far gone from the loop:

"What happened?" asked Ian, looking around in shock. One minute they had been in the house, the next they were on their way. "I don't know for sure," said the Doctor. "But my TARDIS, you see, is a metaphysical engine. It can travel through all the dimensions related to space and time. It's possible that, on this occasion, we entered the dimension of one man's mind. One man's imagination."

Other stories have similarly seen the TARDIS breach into metaphysical space, even at one point physically landing in the Doctor's own mind in the VNAs.

Some of the Doctor's other meetings with legendary, mythical, or fictional characters (even on-screen: the Devil, Robin Hood, Santa Claus etc.) start to also make a bit more sense, don't they?

This all perhaps also shouldn't feel that incongruous, considering we had the Doctor literally end-up in Bethlehem in time for the birth of Christ just this Christmas (even if that one wasn't itself by the TARDIS).

This, perhaps, also sheds light on how the Barber's plan really was going to work.

I mentioned in my live reaction that the "World Wide Web / Nexus" strongly resembled the idea of the Web of Time (with "signals" even being transmitted through it in a way resembling the Matrix). Well the Web of Time, in expanded universe lore, is partially constructed through something called the "Observer Effect", in which temporal probabilities become fixed in history, named after the real-life effect in quantum physics. Through this, history becomes fixed by those that perceive it - designed to enforce Time Lord dominance over history.

For an in-show example, think of the laws of fixed points established by The Angels Take Manhattan: if you read your own future, you fix it into being. This is one reason why the Time Lords ostensibly forbid Time Lords from interacting with one's own past or future, despite the many times we've seen this violated.

I'd make an argument that the Nexus, if it's not literally connected to the Web of Time in some way, effectively serves a similar purpose. Just as observers can shape history, the Nexus allows believers to shape reality, via the effect Dorothea mentioned previously. By controlling it, the gods secure their own existence, just as controlling the Web of Time secures that of the Time Lords. If it is destroyed, those stories are lost, just as history as we know it is transformed by the degradation of the Web of Time.

This may sound like a lot of fanwank, but I have a suspicion that this kind of thinking with regards to the Web of Time is good to keep in mind over the next few episodes.

I theorised after Episode 1 that the TARDIS trying to "pull" itself back to Earth via the Web of Time is what resulted in those various landmarks somehow ending up pulled into the middle of space between MissBelindaChandra-1 and the Earth. That these represented sort-of "node points" in the Earth's history as represented in the Web, and by continuing to pull when it couldn't arrive, the TARDIS had actually pulled them towards it, rather than the other way round.

One episode on, and we get the "vindicators", devices designed to do exactly what I just said!

DOCTOR: We land anywhere, and the vindicator casts out a signal, like a fishing line - whoosh! - to May 24th, 2025, and we use it to pull the TARDIS in like a hook. So we must land.

ANOTHER episode later, and it's revealed that Mrs. Flood (hey remember she said she literally wanted to seize God's kingdom?) actually wants the Doctor to be using the vindicators? We also discover, even more concerningly, that Earth's future history, despite its significance to the universe, has been completely erased.

Next week in Episode 4, we get a relatively grounded episode, that ends with someone "rejecting the Doctor's reality", who is then seemingly recruited by Flood.

Finally, this week, we get this: a story of someone determined to control / tear down a Web stretched over time and space.

Put all this together with the ongoing decline in Rassilon's established laws of rationality, which started after the devastation of Gallifrey in Series 12 and the creation of the Flux, but accelerated after the Doctor fell to the point of using superstition outside the bounds of the Time Lord noosphere in Wild Blue Yonder, and what we know about the final two episodes, including episode titles (which I won't repeat here for spoilers), and it quickly starts to seem like Mrs. Flood might be planning to tear apart the Web of Time.

This may admittedly seem like a bit too much for casual viewers, but the vindicator element at least I'm feeling pretty confident with. If this WILL actually connect to the Web of Time, we'll see, but today's episode didn't exactly dissuade me...

[englishotomegames]

Killer Chat!

Release date (Windows, Mac OS, Linux) English: September 30th, 2024

"A reporter by day, an aspiring writer by night: you've been asking all the important questions on the dark web. 

Like, how do you bury a body? How do you kill someone with a crowbar with the right angle to cause blunt-force trauma? What's the best way to hide from law enforcement?

If you're to write a good crime book, this is how you'll do it.

Suddenly, ERROR! UNKNOWN invites you to a server... with a warning. 'don't be so obvious smh You're Gonna Get Caught'.

...

It's a serial killer chatroom.

You may be slightly fucked."

This is a free game by rosesrot made for the Spooktober Visual Novel Jam! You can download it from itch.io here.

[letsgobarbs]

ANNOUNCING: A FOOL'S TRIP

A Harry Castillo x F!Reader fic coming to the tumblr near you, as soon as I have watched the movie. Inspired by Noble Wife Wants No Love a web novel by Gongzhi Wen Zheng. Special thanks to @probablyreadinsmut for their contribution and their ear.

PROLOGUE

If there was anything people could say about Mrs. Harry Castillo, it is that her life's greatest achievement was to be married to Harry Castillo. And that she was just the sort of horrible woman who knew it. She constantly threw around her weight and threw around his money— only the finest and best would do for her.

Of course, it made sense, the people thought as they gleefully tittered behind their hands. She would need something to fill the hole that had formed from not having her husband’s affections. Everyone remembers Harry Castillo's wild pursuit of the matchmaker and the subsequent fallout. And everybody knows he's still pining for her— she's practically still a family friend! It must also be a real slap in the face for your in-laws to prefer your husband's ex. Everyone also knew Mrs. Harry Castillo's relations with her in-laws were tenuous at best— but always antagonistic.

Of course, Harry Castillo wouldn't recount his wife and their marriage that way. Men had a way of being blissfully unperceptive and unmindful of the weight and significance of each word and action women used against each other as weapons. No, he wouldn't know anything about that.

He remembered his wife as a fresh-faced, bright-eyed, intelligent young girl who he saw at family gatherings. But somewhere along the way she had turned into this nasty, vapid, bully. He didn't mind her spending habits— money wasn't a problem, she could be as spoilt and high-maintenance as she pleases. But ever since the day he had married her, Harry hasn't known a single day of peace.

He didn't know her, he shamefully admitted. Their grandfathers had been best friends who had promised them to each other before either of them knew what marriage or love meant. When she had been in high-school, Harry promised to marry her when she was grown up. When she was in college, Harry promised to marry her when he had made something of himself.

Then her grandfather had passed away and her family fell on hard times— they practically disappeared from society. His grandpa insisted he marry her then to save her and her family, but he had just tasted the first morsel of success and independence so marriage wasn’t on his mind. It wasn't that he didn't want to marry her— Harry fully intended to honour the promise his grandfather made. But waiting for a few more years wouldn't hurt, right?

Moreover, his mother clearly disapproved of her. She had been very vocal on multiple occasions that she thought his wife was nothing but a gold-digger— some pauper grasping for his wealth to maintain an elusive former lifestyle. He had explained to his mother many times to be civil to her. But she was just as worse, always riling up his mother and locking heads with her at every turn. So, he decided to wait a few more years— just until they learned to be polite with one another.

He realised he was keeping her waiting— leading her on. So, he cut her a deal. If by a certain age, they had both not found love then he would definitely, absolutely, marry her then— for real this time. It was for the best. Certainly, she never expected to have some family promise hold up her life. So he gave them both a chance to find real love. And after Lucy, his time was up. He kept his promise this time. And ushered everyone into a match made in hell.

Harry wasn't blind, he knew the girl liked him. She had basically announced it to everyone who would listen and even those who won't. Her eyes had always innocently shined with love every time she looked at him. He had not felt the same but believed that affection for her would grow in him with time. But her love has only grown more obsessive with every year that passed. He winced as he remembered the altercation between her and Lucy. It was far too embarrassing for everyone involved.

But still, he hesitated as his pen touched the divorce paper. The scent of home made food lingered in the apartment. She always made the effort for him. And it was human nature to ruminate over things that are ending— wondering if they could've done something different. He regretted not keeping his grandfather's promise of always taking care of her. The old man has always been blind to his wife's faults— as far as he was concerned, she could do no wrong. Harry considered adding to her already substantial alimony.

“Sign it, do it, you little shit. I triple dog dare you.”

His head whipped up in surprise at her words. But his wife was still pitifully crying into the handkerchief he had lent her. Even his lawyers looked like they hadn't heard anything. It had been a long flight home. Was he just tired and hallucinating?

“Darling, please don't do this. I'm begging. I'll get on my knees. Please. I'll be such a good wife to you. I even cooked us dinner,it's your favourite. I'll try harder, I'll do everything you—” she whined. Her voice was getting on his nerves, like a persistent itch he couldn't scratch.

“Please Mrs Castillo. Let's not make it any more difficult than it has to be. My client has already given you a sizeable alimony as well as this apartment…” his lawyer drones on. He hadn't wanted to embarrass her in front of others. But he knew it would be nearly impossible to talk to her during one of her tantrums. So he threw that task onto someone else, along with a hefty cheque for their efforts.

“That bitch better have given me a good alimony. I looked it over and eek the apartment, the car, the vacation house, all my jewellery and a few of his shares too? I almost don't hate him teehee.”

Harry peered at her face, she really hadn't said a word. His wife was still shedding one shimmery tear after the next while looking at him like a spurned lover who had the very clothes ripped off her back. But it was unmistakably her voice. Was he sick and hearing things?

“I won't sign the papers! I won't even read them. I don't want anything. I just want to be with my husband”—she turned to beg him—“Please, baby. Think about gramps. He's ill and he'll be so shocked to hear about the divorce. Let's not break his heart. Tell me how you want me to do better. I swear I'll work on myself. Do you think I'm fat? Is that why you're divorcing me?”

“Fat, my ass. That's right, nice, thick, juicy ass. She deserves better. I deserve better. Gramps will understand that hot milfs and dilfs in the area are waiting for me. But I swear I must be rid of this man TODAY.”

Harry could do nothing more than gape at his wife. She gave a strangled sob, “Is that why you haven't touched me? Your mom blames me for not giving you a baby. But, husband, I didn't tell them you haven't even touched me.” She could barely get the words out towards the end from the heaving hiccups.

He felt anger licking through his veins. They both knew that despite their differences his mother and his grandfather would be angry at him for not treating her properly as his wife. Was she threatening to tell on him?

“What are you scowling at me for? That's right I'm threatening you. Quick, get angry, pick up the pen, sign the papers. Hahahahah. Tell me you can't spend another second being married to me. Say you'll divorce me, DO IT.”

Harry set the pen down on the papers. He tried to read the letters on the page, hoping to focus his mind on something else so the voice would disappear.

“Sweet, baby Jesus in heaven. If there was ever a time you come out swinging for me, now is the time, my good Lord. Set me free from the shackles of this marriage. Make this man sign the divorce papers.”

No such luck, it seemed. He looked at his wife. She looked hopeful.

“You won't sign them? I knew you felt something for me, baby! I love you so much! I promise…” Harry couldn't stand listening to more from her so he tuned out the rest of her words and picked up the pen again.

“YES, yes. That's right. You're irritated at me saying I love you. I knew it was the perfect thing to say! MUAHAHAHAHA. My beauty, my charm, my youthful, pretty years all wasted on this vanilla potpourri. I'll go on my trip. My Fool’s trip. And I'll fuck so many people nyasty style, it's about to be the hot girl summer I deserve. Oh-M-Gee Lucien de Leon was soooooooo flirting with me the other night. Maybe I'll call him up tonight and pretend to drown my divorce sorrows by BOUNCING ON THAT MASSIVE DICK. GOD BLESS.”

He caught it. The most minuscule up-tick of the corner of her mouth that she quickly hid behind more high pitched crying and her palm. He was hearing her inner thoughts.

“Husband…” she twisted his handkerchief anxiously in her hands, “Don't cast me out. Don't divorce me, please.” She tearfully and longingly gazed at him.

“Okay, I'll give you one more chance.” He acquiesced. He ignored the exasperated huff from his lawyers.

“Oh, thank you so much, darling. I won't let you down. I'll be the bestest wifey ever!” She smilingly declared.

“WHAAAATTTT???? YOU WON'T SIGN? YOU WON'T SIGN THE DIVORCE PAPERS? THEW THEW THEW. I SPIT ON YOU. I SPIT ON YOUR ANCESTORS. YOU SHIT HEAD, ELECTRIC CHAIR. DEATH TO YOU. A THOUSAND DEATHS TO YOU. ASSHOLE. SET ME FREE. LET ME OUUTT. MY TRIP. MY HOT GIRL SUMMER. ALL THOSE BEAUTIFUL SEXY PEOPLE WAITING TO FUCK ME. FUCK YOU.”

For the first time in perhaps years, Harry Castillo smiled at his wife.

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead's Sister in Law!

Re-upload due to complications.

Story Masterlist

Chapter 1

'Slight' Yandere! Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader

Warnings: possible yandere themes, arranged marriage, toxic relationship, slight incestual themes due to the content of “Roxana,” blood, mention of murder

Nsfw warnings: Lost of virginity (both parties?), fingering, oral (fem receiving), spit, implied dacryphilia, reader does NOT get to finish, vaginal pain, HEAVY DUB/CON.

NOTE: CURRENTLY EDITING THE EXISTING CHAPTERS THAT MAY CHANGE THE FLOW/MOOD OF THE STORY. THANK YOU FOR READING AND UNDERSTANDING.

Disclaimer: I do NOT condone any of the harmful and dangerous actions/behaviors that takes place in this piece of fiction. These actions/behaviors should not be normalized or romanticized as they are extremely toxic and dangerous.

Minors/blank/blogs that do not interact with fandom related things (reblog, comment, etc, on fics, art, etc) dni.

Overall story summary: you reincarnated into one of your favorite novel-turned-webtoons. However, you didn't want to become the female lead's sister-in-law...

===

“The Way to Protect the Female Lead’s Older Brother,” also known as “ROXANA” was a rather dark novel that was adapted into a webtoon. And as luck would have it, the webtoon wasn’t finished, and you don’t remember all the details of the fan translated web novel you found online.

Now, why would that be a problem? Simple:

You reincarnated into it. Not as a main character, or even a servant to one of the families. You weren’t a child of Lant’s or one of his many wives. You weren’t a friend to one of his children, either. Instead, it could be considered to be better than most of what was listed - however, faith still wasn’t kind to you.

Whatever God you managed to piss off had a silly little, petty revenge plan that was straight out of a third-rate horror novel with teenage girls fawning over it. And truthfully, if written right, the non-existent novel would have been a banger – but no, instead it was anything but. Or maybe you only really think that because of your position in this world, where your birth was simple, but painful for your mother, and you were lucky enough to be born into a family that loved and cared for and about you.

It was a noble family, to boot. Wealthy enough to live a comfortable life. Two siblings – an older sister who was already married at the age of thirty with a child on the way. The other was a 12-year-old boy who made it his life mission to be the most annoying little piece of shit on earth. However, the news of your engagement changed them.

But as you lay on your back, hands holding your nightgown in place, all you could think about was how small Dion Argriche makes you feel. The wedding ceremony just finished up hours ago, and here you are, back pressed against silk sheets as your now-husband hovers over you.

(Name) Agriche.

What a horrible name and cruel faith.

For whatever reason, only you, the bride, was prepared for your first night - bathed and given lingerie. The groom, on the other hand, had stride in with the same expression he wore earlier, no sign of being prepped for tonight.

Inky black hair that falls into his carmine red eyes that held indifference. His wedding-tux was still on, even the outer jacket with the silly lone rose in his pocket. Oh, what a shame – to be married to such a handsome man only for him to be obsessed with his sister and emotionally unavailable.

God despises you.

“Close your eyes if you’re uncomfortable.”

He unbuttons his outer jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and tosses it to the side. You should close your eyes, you think, because his face was nothing but stone. Not even a condescending grin. He doesn’t comfort you, either – at least not in the typical sense.

“Keep still,” his gloved hands grab your thighs and you let him open them, creating space for him to get closer. You want to push him away and run. But what good would that do? Why couldn’t the man just slice something and claim that the blood on the sheets was from your first night?

“I’m scared.” You speak without thinking, becoming stiff as his hands traveled from your outer thigh to the inner, creeping underneath your suggestive nightgown. His gloves feel cold and uncomfortable, touch borderline rough. You fail to notice the slight tremble.

“I – I need a moment. Please?”

He tilts his head, giving it thought. After a moment he removes himself, but annoyance radiates off him. Your heart beats faster as the second’s pass. You remain on your back. The ceiling is painted white, no decorations and the room was bare saved for a dresser, closet, mirror and a Victorian style chair near  the terrace doors.

You will be sleeping in here, from now on.

“Can’t do it? Then don’t.” He’s annoyed, surely, otherwise he wouldn’t look at you like you were an insect. What a wonderful way to start the newlywed life. But it’s not that easy to walk away, and while it sounds like he’s giving you a say-so, he isn’t; if you don’t consummate your marriage tonight, then…

“… I’m sorry. It’s my first time and I heard there would be pain.” You shouldn’t have to explain yourself. But Dion wasn’t exactly known for his… compassion. Or basic human emotions, either.

If this was someone else, would you be able to do it? Where did everything go wrong? This didn’t happen in the novel; Dion didn’t get married. There wasn’t a grand wedding with the Five Ruling Families in attendance. Nor was there a steamy scene with this man throughout the novel, not even in the side stories.

How did you end up here?

“Then relax.” If you weren’t scared of losing your life you would have run him over. It affects everything! Then again, it wouldn’t matter to him – this is a duty. Not something he wanted, you’re sure, and even if he did it would only have his best interests in mind.

“… I’m ready.” You don’t answer him, because it would only lead to a one-sided argument. Even a wall listens better. Despite your wishes, Dion does the same as last – settles in-between your legs, and this time, you close your eyes.

“Good. Try to relax or it won’t fit.” Your cheeks burn at that, mind already picturing how it would look. Many men say things like that, even in your old world. It’s just a thing they said, like with many things. It doesn’t really mean anything, because if it did then…

His gloves are still on, cold and grip tight on your thighs. You were hoping he would be gentler. But as his hands travel up and up until they’re pulling at the edges of your underwear to slide them down, you realize he won’t.

There’s no slickness down there, your underwear dry and vagina even drier. You peek through your eyelashes, watching as he inspects the article of clothing. He tosses it a few seconds later.

“I’m only going to ask once – would you rather keep your clothes on or off?” It seems that with every second reality just hits harder and harder. This was going to happen. Nothing could stop it. And if hypothetically, if he were to stop this, what then?

Even if he sliced an arm to fake the night, what about later? A baby, Lant wants Dion to have a child. No. You couldn’t do that to a child, especially yours.

“On. Please.” You expect him to just shove in a finger or two, watching as your body jerks in pain. Instead, he lifts your hips until your bottom is off the bed and flips the flimsy skirt up. And then there’s a glob of something wet and gooey, legs twitching as it lands on your bare cunt.

“D – did you just… spit?” Steading yourself on your arms, you look on in disbelief as your husband just spat on your pussy. A string of saliva hangs from his tongue.

Dion stares for longer than necessary before making a move. It makes dread seep into your stomach and head swim with thoughts - Why is he staring? Is he disgusted? Curious? 

You  bite your lip and resist the urge to repeat yourself, adding words that would send you to your early grave. 

Instead of answering you, much less look at you, his thumb comes into play and spreads his saliva over the surface of your cunt. It’s only when his thumb swipes over your clit do you let out a shaky breath.

Maybe he was feeling generous or maybe he was curious. Dion decided to rub the twitching nub over and over until your legs twitch and cunt clenched around nothing. The glove made it uncomfortable, but even so, you just tried your best to focus on the pleasure. You weren’t sure if he would give you pleasure like this again.

When his breath hitches you assume it’s from annoyance - why else would he give such a response? 

“You’re enjoying this,” he retreats his hand leaving your twitching and needy clit lonely.

A pathetic whimper escapes as you watch your husband take his glove off with his teeth. This man is everything you fear and more, a character that you should have never met. Yet the sight of him lowering his head to lick a long stripe against your slit has your legs shaking.

His tongue is warm and slimy, causing your hands to clench the sheets as your head falls back. Another lick and another until it’s flicking your clit back and forth, sending warmth throughout your body. However, despite the pleasure he’s giving you, his grip is still tight, almost painful on your hips. It feels restrained.

Your heartbeat doesn’t slow down as he continues. Your fear barely dies down in your chest, even as the tip of his tongue teases your entrance. You shut your eyes tight, a breathless gasp leaving your lips as he thrusts his tongue into your cunt.

“It feels – “a pause as you catch your breath, “weird, it feels really weird and – “

Dion repeats the action until you’re a trembling mess, sensitive from your mental state and the current oral sex you’re receiving. It’s hard to focus on either one, your mind constantly reminding you that you’re in a fictional world, about to fuck a man who’s jaded and possibly has a thing for his sister –

“Ah… wait, that’s a lot…” he decides to go further, bringing his thumb back and rubs loose circles into your clit. He’s still eating you out, with more vigor than expected - it should be sloppy, lazy, less than half-hearted. No, rather, he shouldn’t be doing this regardless!.

Even so, your husband keeps at it. If it was a good or bad thing was up for debate – on one hand, while it does feel good, everything is moving too fast, your pleas for slowing down falling on deaf ears. It really is a lot, tongue fucking you while those loose circles on your clit become tighter, rougher. Should you just lay back and take what he gives?

Your mother would probably say yes. Your sister would just pat your head and smile like it was expected. Normal. Take what he gives, especially if it benefits you in any way.

“…?” Your eyes open at his tongue leaving your cunt with a saliva trail, his eyes glued to your twitching sex. His thumb also stops rubbing circles, instead going back to grip your hip as your back starts to become sore. Your ass is still off the bed and if he keeps you hosted up like this, then you really will snap in half.

But then he locks eyes with you.

“I thought you were scared.” Dion doesn’t let you respond, either because he doesn’t care or because it would ruin the ‘mood.’ He latches his mouth to your poor, abused nub instead. And sucks.

“H-hey!” One hand supporting you while the other grabs at his hair, you didn’t expect him to throw your legs over his shoulders. “That’s enough, really, no need to – ugh…” His mouth was warm and soft, but it sent your nerves on fire.

Good. Bad. Good. Bad.

Good, bad, does it matter anymore?

He sucks harder and your fingers tug harshly at his hair. You kick your legs but are unable to tell if it’s from pleasure or the flight or fight response he’s causing you. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t bat an eye, making it his life mission to suck you dry.

“Ah – wait, Dion – “

It’s at your whine of his name that he finally, finally stops, a ‘pop’ when he detaches his mouth from your sensitive and bullied clit. Your husband decides to lick one last long stripe from your entrance to your clit, all the while making eye contact with you. Your chest heaves as your mind settles, arousal overthrowing your thoughts.

“What is it?” Monotone, his voice is monotone and he’s not even out of breath. Your mother lied, there’s not even a hint of pink across those cheeks. It’s fine, though – no, it’s not, it’s baffling how steady he seems when your back is about to break, and you can’t even breathe.

He doesn’t wipe your slick off his mouth. His crimson eyes narrow, and your heart drops. There’s something in his gaze that doesn’t sit right with you. You can physically feel your heart failing you.

Your eyes travel from his to his hair, where your hand is still grasping the strands. Mind still catching up to your body, you let go and draw your hand back, covering your eyes with it. Your entire body is shaky and legs sore. You’re not used to this position.

“It – it’s enough.” Your husband lets you pull your legs back, feet pressing against his broad shoulders as you bring them back down. The relief is almost immediate, a pleasurable and relief-filled sigh leaving your chest. You allow yourself to rest for a bit, your sensitive cunt and sore legs screaming for it.

“… O – okay, I think, I think that’s fine. Excuse me…” Gently, you pull one leg up until your foot is flat against the bed. With a shudder, you trace your entrance timidly with two fingers, getting used to the touch. You’re not sure of how big he was, but you’ll use three fingers just in case.

It’s not nimble, it’s clumsy, but your touch is familiar. Comforting, closing your eyes as you pretend the man in front of you is gone and that this is just another lonely night -

You gape like a fish when his hand reaches out, grabbing yours roughly. You didn’t even notice the dip in the mattress as Dion got closer on his knees, face inches away from yours. Oh God, now what –

“What are you doing?” clearly annoyed, Dion doesn’t let you look away – not that you were going to – free hand grabbing your face, pointer finger and thumb on each cheek. It’s barely loose enough to leave no bruises. It hurts regardless.

“I – I was… prepping…” part of you wants to pretend that this man doesn’t know how to comfortably prepare you for penetration with his… but you know better. Because an inexperienced man wouldn’t know how to do things with his tongue like that, or where the clit was because –

“Are you still scared?” The hand that was holding yours releases it, opting to sneak its way to your cunt. His fingers were larger than yours, nimbler as they stroke your labia minora. Are the shivers washing over you from nervousness or arousal?

His grip on your face starts to loosen, almost soft.

“… I’m scared of the pain.” By instinct, you knew he meant more than scared of sex – if you feared him. Still.

It doesn’t need to be said.

“Scared of the pain?” His eyes glow in the moonlight, bright red, that same look from earlier in his eyes. “Why?” He doesn’t break eye contact as his fingers inch closer to your entrance, stroking the opening, making your legs jolt. What a horrible man.

You remind yourself that this man only felt fear as a child – and even then, it probably wasn’t for very long. Nothing lasts for long, in this estate.

“Because I hate it.” You don’t break eye contact either, breathing in when one finger slowly sinks in, your walls now stretching uncomfortably. It’s not as painful as you thought it would be, your wetness mixed with his saliva making it easier. Your nails are about to rip holes in the silk sheets.

Like a curious animal, he tilts his head, curling his finger. It doesn’t feel good, it hurts, but you endure it even when you wince. Dion decides it would be a good idea to spread your legs a bit further, and like a bug, crawls between them even more. You hiccup when he adds a second finger.

They’re bigger than yours, they reach deeper. In your old world, did it feel like this too? You can’t remember.

“It’s going to hurt worse if you don’t let me finish this. Relax your legs before it hurts worse.” Pressure builds in your eyes, but you fight it off. “Save your tears for when it matters.”

You’re tired of him already.

He doesn’t move them, at first. It’s almost like he expects this, because as you adjust to something foreign inside you, he starts to rub at your clit, again. Softly this time, touch firm enough to feel but not hard enough to hurt. Or maybe you’re lying to yourself because you’re still wincing.

When he starts to thrust them in and out, you force yourself to look at the ceiling, scared to see the expression on his face. You also don’t want to watch the show, scared it’ll already be bloody. Just a bit.

“It’s tight.” He states it like it’s the morning news. “And wet.” Your cheeks burn with both shame and embarrassment, shutting your eyes.

“… ugh…,” groaning, your hand reaching out to grab his wrist. “It hurts, a lot.” You sit up, back against the headboard, avoiding your husband’s gaze. Unfortunately, by doing this, your eyes land on your messy hole, light blood on his fingers as he pulls them out only to thrust them in again.

“It’s normal. The more you resist the worse it gets.” You give up, letting him do as he pleases, shutting your mouth.

The fingering still hurts as the minutes go by, but little by little the pressure eases down and when he arches his hand, he hits something soft and spongy. He’s rewarded the sight of your head banging against the headboard once, shoulder tense as you bite your bottom lip.

If only you could see that look in his eyes.

“Here?” He repeats the action, faster this time. You only nod your head, lips ajar, tongue swiping over them. Your hips have a mind of their own, rising as the heel of his hand rapidly smacks against your clit with the thrust of his hand.

You’re half there mentally and halfway in heaven, momentarily forgetting just who was here with you, whose room this belonged to, and your entire situation to begin with. “Oh - wait, it’s a lot but – “

A third finger is added, and it starts to sting again. Another wince, another groan, but your arousal helps to keep the pain to minimum. All three fingers curl to hit that special spot that makes you see blacked out stars and pussy clench. All the while light blood coats his fingers, a sight he’s already used to due to his lifestyle.

It’s only when he pulls his hand away completely do you return from the skies, a small layer of sweat coating your forehead. Your hands are shaky as you look at him, only to be drowned back into reality when you’re met with the intense glow of those red and sharp eyes.

“If you’re ready, lay on your back and spread your legs.” He undoes his pants while saying this, scooting back to give you some room.

With a heavy heart, you do so, laying on your back and spreading your legs. You were fine just moments ago, so why is your heart leaping out of your throat rather than staying in your chest? Maybe it was because of the pleasure, or…

You’re scared, again.

You don’t look when something fat and heavy plops onto your pelvis. You don’t look when he brings you closer by your thighs. You don’t look as he rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds, catching on your clit. There’s a halt before he resumes.

“Relax or it won’t fit,” he reminds you before pushing the fat head in. At first, it’s a sting no bigger than an ant bite. But then another inch goes in, and you feel like a sword is cutting you straight open, your legs tensing and hands grasping his forearms in a futile attempt to stop him.

Your nails dig into his sleeves, and you can feel the muscles underneath. Your husband gives a small twitch before he returns to normal. The tears build up as your face becomes hot, taking in deep breaths like it would soften the intruding body part.

“Big – it’s too big, it’s not going to fit – “

“… You look cute when you cry.” It’s sinister, teasing and everything that makes your stomach drop. His thumb wipes away your tears that’s already staining your skin. But he stops regardless, if only to shut you up if nothing else.

You think a few minutes pass but it’s hard to tell when he’s still inside, pulsing and you could feel every vein on his cock. It’s thick, it’s big and you don’t think you’re equipped to handle it, handle him. He’s everything that ruins your sense of self, that makes your dreams shatter and fear rot you from the inside out.

But he’s your husband…

But he’s your husband.

“Relax,” he inches in deeper, slower this time, but not letting you get a word in. Your nails dig deeper, and if it weren’t for his shirt, you would have drawn blood. Another inch, another gasp that leaves you breathless, grasping for anything that could keep you grounded. The only thing you could grab was him, however.

“Dion, Dion, you’re going to break me, I can’t – I can’t – “

“You can. You have to.” Was his voice raspy, just now? If so, it worries you, because you just remembered one very important detail – Dion Argece was, if nothing else, a sadist. Be it from his childhood trauma, or if he would be like this regardless of, he loved seeing Roxana cry.

It never occurred to you that he would love seeing you cry, too.

How deep was he? It feels you’re being speared open, his cock bullying its way into your virgin hole. You weren’t a virgin in your last life, but it didn’t hurt like this. It had hurt, felt like you were being ripped, but not enough to make you cry and breathless.

You think you can feel blood trickling down your ass crack. “Please tell me you’re almost there, please…” sniffling, you look up at your husband, the man taking your virginity in the name of ‘marriage.’ Something in your mind shatters.

There was a flush across his cheeks. Pupils blown wide and a small grin on his lips. He was enjoying this. Your pain, your tears and perhaps even your fear – he was enjoying this.

It would have been better if he didn’t feel anything, you think. Just a stone statue that was performing its task. But even monsters had emotions, you guess.

“I’m not. Just endure it for a bit longer – I’ll stop once I’m at the hilt.” Was he a liar in the novel? You think he was, otherwise, the overtaking of the Agriche family wouldn’t have happened. Lant wouldn't be dead. But things haven’t followed the novel to a T – this was proof enough.

“You’ll stop? Like, completely? You – you took my virginity, so that should be enough. Right?”

You hate it when he keeps wiping your tears away. Or when he slides in even more, your blood coating his stupid dick. You hate it when he brings one hand to toy with your clit, granting you pleasure that was just overthrown by the smothering pain traveling up to your belly.

He doesn’t answer. And that was enough for you to rake your nails down the back of his neck, drawing blood in return. He’s making you bleed, so it was only fair if you could too, right?

Deeper and deeper until his balls rest against your bottom and pelvis meeting yours. Surprisingly, your husband keeps his word, letting you adjust to the new feeling. It feels heavy. It feels like a heartbeat, like a rod that was stuck. It felt awful.

How long did it take you to get used to it, in the past? No longer than fifteen minutes max, right? No, shorter than that. Then again, it didn’t hurt this much, but that partner was more loving, more caring, gentler –

“Who are you thinking about?”

The question breaks you out of your daze. You blink, once, before you question him back. He only glares in response.

Panic fills you when he pulls out, pain still there, blood still trickling down. “Wait, you’re – “

“I’m what?” He pulled out until only the head remained inside. You try your best to ignore the bruising grip he has on your hips. You’re going to be sore tomorrow. If you survive this, anyway.

God, if you’re listening, please let this night end peacefully.

“B-big. It’s going to hurt, please don’t…” dragging your hands down from his neck to his chest, your fingers digging into his shirt. You think he twitched but it’s probably your imagination.

“Hm. A shame, really; you still must give birth, eventually. It’s better to get used to it now than later.” Your mind doesn’t catch up with your body, legs tensing when he slides oh so carefully back in, like he didn’t just push your worries aside like nothing. “Relax.”

“Dion,” hiccupping, you brace yourself, head nuzzling into his chest as your hold on his shirt tightens. When he pulls back out, you could feel every detail, every vein trail, his girth truly opening you. He graces you with mercy, going at a languid pace, minimizing the pain. His thumb never stopped rubbing your clit, either.

It goes like that, for a good while. Slow and steady, your hushed sobs dying on your lips, your husband careful with his thrusts, but not his grip. It was almost comforting, in a way. But you were still scared of him, and of what will happen after this.

“… I have a proposition.”

His hips stop and your ears perk up.

“You want me to stop, correct?” Dion pulls back until he’s on his heels, his cock dragging along your walls. You wince before breathing out. He doesn’t even try to hide the sadistic look in his eye as he sees the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. He almost grins in glee.

Like he had just won a trophy.

“Y-yes…” You don’t let go of his shirt. “Why…?” There's hope inside you, but dread starts to rot it away.

“Jerk it.”

“…what?”

He was different from the novel. Extremely so, because you doubt that Dion would suggest a thing, much less give you a choice in the matter. That Dion would have either ignored you and this night or taken you as is, no mercy, no humanity granted if this took place at the beginning of the story.

When he doesn’t repeat himself, you pull yourself up until you’re resting on your knees. The sight of blood both on his cock and the sheets make you gag and thankfully, he doesn’t comment on it. Hesitantly, you take him into your hands, fingers barely able to close around it. You shouldn’t have been able to physically take him and yet you did.

It throbs in your hand.

Your blood is coating your hands now, too.

Only silence is between you, your hands working him. Your thumb swipes over his head, circling it before stroking his dick up and down. Your other hand plays with his balls, massaging them. You’re not sure how long it would take him to finish.

Your core throbs in pain, and you become worried over the thought of peeing. It would probably hurt.

You want to sleep.

Without giving it much thought, just like your husband, you spit on it, a glob of saliva falling onto the staff. It throbs harder. And when you look at him, tired eyes and drool still dripping down from your tongue, still jerking him off –

“…Ngh…”

It’s almost cute, the way sperm spurts out and makes a mess on your hands. The very small and fleeting look of embarrassment on his facial features is almost enough to comfort you. But when there’s barely a sheen of sweat adoring his forehead, unlike you, who was still recovering, you’re reminded that your husband was different from you.

There are no kisses, no sweet nothings shared between lovers. No stroking your hair or comforting your trembling form as your legs shake. Or even an offer to warm a bath for you, the warm water soothing your body. There’s none of that.

Not even a smile.

“Welcome to the Agriche family, wife.”

You breathe out, closing your eyes. The bed creaks and bed dips further as Dion makes a move - only to be stopped by a knock at the door. He doesn’t even bid you goodbye when he lazily gets up.

Instead, all that awaits you is a restless sleep on a bloodied mattress with a husband who left after cleaning himself up.

Which God despises you so much and why?

[dangermousie]

@mercipourleslivres (at least I think it was her) recommended The Eldest Daughter In Law [Reborn] and I am reading it now and so so so so so good!

I highly recommend it.

Our FL was a dutiful wife in her last life but as she lay there dying from illness she realized none of it mattered - her in laws, birth family and husband all took her efforts for granted and never really showed any appreciation beyond politeness and now she’s dying they all calmly plan to marry in her half sister to her husband after she dies to continue the family running smoothly. Her husband doesn’t even come to see her much as she’s ill and seemingly has no issue with the plan of taking a new wife when his family and her birth family urge him showing she might as well be an interchangeable cog.

As she dies, bitter at her whole life wasted and her love and care and goodness wasted, she wakes up years before all of this. Her marriage is fairly new (they just had their first child) and she resolves to live this life for herself.

This novel is very much a slice of life with no huge drama (mostly). Why do I love it? It’s the realism that makes it relatable.

Unlike in a lot of these rebirth web novels, there is no huge villain or some grand vengeance she wants to seek. The people in the first life weren’t monsters, they were just self absorbed or poor communicators or driven by the values of the period. Her father isn’t some abusive monster, he’s just a man who didn’t pay much attention to her, the same as any of his daughters. Her sisters in law and brothers in law and parents in law didn’t hate her and make her life a misery, they just took her for granted and only cared for what she could do for them. Her husband (who she dies believing plans to marry her half sister) was always distant and emotionally uninvolved but polite and gentle and very capable in court. It’s not a Blossom situation where he was fooling around with the half sis or anything - he has no interest in her either.

The tragedy of FL’s first life isn’t some sort of grand operatic disaster but having spent her whole life surrounded and pouring out her love towards a bunch of polite strangers. But that is what makes it so real.

Her goals in the second life are also nothing grand - to live for herself and to make sure eg her brother has good life and doesn't meet with an accident and her half sister doesn't get to marry in etc. It's relatable.

Also, I am a sucker for second chance romances especially slowburns and this is such a good example. The ML's arc is so great because he was never a villain, he was just very much a man of his era who believed that a proper marriage is one where you fuck twice a month on specified dates and are courteous and barely talk and are at best remote acquaintances. Watching him slowly, oh so slowly, be drawn to his wife who is changing and distancing for reasons he cannot follow is so delicious. His pining for a woman who doesn't hate him but, other than family standing problems it would create, would not care if he fell down a well and died is DELICIOUS.

PS Points to this novel for not being explicit but still so bluntly portraying the discomfort and awkwardness of sex for both parties when you are supposed to do it to have children but barely know each other and are trying to be polite throughout.

[nellasbookplanet]

Book recs: werewolves

Want your monsters a little hairier? Then this list is for you! Whether you prefer your werewolf books fantasy, horror, slice of life, or romance, this list has a something for everyone (especially if you want your werewolves queer!)

For more details on the books, continue under the readmore. Titles marked with * are my personal favorites. And as always, feel free to share your own recs in the notes!

If you want more book recs, check out my masterpost of rec lists!

Lobizona (Wolves of No World series) by Romina Garber

Young adult. As an undocumented immigrant, Manu has been told her existence is illegal. When her mother is arrested by ICE, Manu is left alone, and decides to seek out the only connection she has left: her dead father's criminal connections. Here she finds a secret underworld of Argentinian folklore, where a seventh daughter is a bruja and a seventh son is a lobizón - a werewolf. But as Manu understands more about who and what she is, she comes to realize her self is seen as forbidden in more ways than one, and that she will have to fight for her way to exist. Tackles heavy subjects in a more lighthearted magic school setting.

Empire of Wild by Cherie Dimaline

Horror. Nearly a year ago, Joan's husband Victor disappeared seemingly into thin air. That is, until Joan stumbles across a revival tent where the local Métis have gathered to listen to the charismatic preacher Eugene Wolff - a man with Victor's face. But when she faces him, he doesn't recognize her at all, claiming his mission is only to spread the word of Jesus. Only, that is far from all he's doing. Now Joan must find out the truth of what happened to her husband.

Lycanthropy and Other Chronic Illnesses by Kristen O'Neal*

Young adult. Priya had plans to go to Stanford, but is derailed when the fallout from lyme disease puts her back, making her question if she'll ever get back to normal. Luckily she has her discord support group with whom she can chat and vent about her illness. Even more - she has Brigid, online fandom friend and fellow chronic illness sufferer. But when Brigid disappears from the web without warning, Priya must drive to Pennsylvania to make sure her friend is okay - and finds that Brigid's condition is a bit hairier than she expected.

Santa Olivia (Santa Olivia duology) by Jacqueline Carey*

Is this werewolf fiction? Technically not. It's sci-fi more than fantasy or horror, with a plot reminiscent of superhero stories. It follows Loup Garron, a young girl growing up in Santa Olivia, an isolated town by the border between the US and Mexico, where the inhabitants aren't allowed to leave. Loup is the daughter of a "Wolf Man", a soldier enhanced with wolven traits which she have now inherited, allowing her to take a stand against the soldiers keeping her small home town oppressed. Also features a main f/f couple!

A Wolf Steps in Blood by Tamara Jerée*

Novella, lesbian soulmate romance. Red wolves went extinct in Alabama long ago - except for the ancestors of Yasmine's family, who were saved by witches putting a spell on them, allowing them to take human form to hide. Now, that spell is growing weaker, and Yasmine is struggling for control with her wolf. When a chance encounter with the exiled blood witch Kalta reveals the two to be not only fated mates but also the possible answer to the pack's struggles, Yasmine and Kalta both must work together to overcome the grief in their hearts and save their families.

Mongrels by Stephen Graham Jones

Horror. A coming-of-age story following a boy and his aunt Libby and uncle Darren, living on the road and staying outside the law. They're all outsiders, but Libby and Darren are mongrels, mixedbloods, werewolves waiting to see if their nephew is like them or not. The boy, meanwhile, must decide if the wandering life of his family is for him, or if he belongs somewhere else.

How to Be a Werewolf by Shawn Lenore*

Graphic novel, available as printed or webcomic. Malaya was bitten by a wolf as a child, and ever since she has lived an isolated life with her family, working in their coffee shop and fearing she will lose control of her wolf side. Having never met another werewolf, Malaya knows little of what she is - until she meets a stranger claiming to be like her, and that she's far from alone. But the more she gets involved with other werewolves, the more she also gets dragged into the dangerous conflicts between packs.

Artie and the Wolf Moon by Olivia Stephens

Middle grade graphic novel. One night, young Artie witnesses something incredible - her own mother turning into a wolf. She finds out she's from a lineage of werewolves, and to help her awaken her abilities her mother invites family friends who are like them. A new world opens up for Artie, but so do dark secrets: werewolves have a deadly enemy, and it's coming back for them.

Bored Gay Werewolf by Tony Santorella

Brian is a slacker, having dropped out from college, working as a waiter, and spending his nights drinking with his friends - except the nights when he turns into a werewolf, of course. But after having slipped and killed a jogger, Brian is noticed by fellow werewolf Tyler, who's working on a self-help startup for werewolves and offers to mentor Brian. At first Tyler's methods helps Brian get back on his feet, but the more he learns of Tyler's expansion plans, the more he realizes he might be bad news. A good read if you want a funny, goofy take down of toxic masculinity that doesn't take itself very seriously.

Such Sharp Teeth by Kim Harrison*

When her pregnant twin sister is left by her boyfriend, Rory decides to go back to her home town and stay with her for a time. But the town is also the home of old childhood trauma, and something wild is roaming the woods. When she gets attacked and mauled one night, Rory's successful life is changed forever. Lycanthropy used as a metaphor for female rage, trauma, and bad coping mechanisms.

What Big Teeth by Rose Szabo

Young adult horror. It's been years since Eleanor Zarrin last saw her family, having been sent away to boarding school when she was little. But after a bloody misstep, Eleanor must flee the school and return home to her family's manor. Here she's reminded of her family's darker side, and that she has never been able to run and hunt in the woods alongside them. But in a family of wolves Eleanor is something else - and even more dangerous.

Red Hood by Elana K. Arnold

Young adult horror. A take on the little red riding hood tale where the girl is both the victim of the wolf and the huntsman who slays it. After a particularly embarrassing incident, young Bisou flees into the woods, only to be faced with a predatory wolf. To her shock, their face-off ends with the wolf dead, not Bisou. Even more shocking: the dead wolf turns into a boy. Suddenly, Bisou finds herself a hunter and a protector, routing out the wolves who masquerade as boys. Visceral and bloody, but pretty feminism 101 in its portrayal.

Fear the Wolf by Stefanie Gilmour

Urban fantasy. Alex never wanted to be a werewolf, but when a latent gene was triggered by a traumatic event, causing her to shift, she had no choice but to accept her new reality. Now she stays under the radar, avoiding other werewolves as she tries to keep a job and keep her temper under control, fearing that she will be discovered or even hurt someone. The only person outside her family who knows her secret is Emma, a wizard and Alex's closest friend. But when Emma gets a new boyfriend and starts acting strangely at the same time as attacks and disappearances of supernatural citizens are on the rise, Alex might have no other choice but to get involved in the local werewolf community to fight back.

Kitty and the Midnight Hour by Carrie Vaughn

Urban fantasy. Kitty Norville is a midnight radio host and a werewolf, having been turned after a traumatic attack. Stuck in an abusive pack, Kitty needs an outlet, and decides to use her radio midnight hour to speak about the supernatural. Soon others like her are calling in, seeking advice, and Kitty's life is looking up - but in drawing attention to the supernatural, she has also put a target on her back, and someone wants to make her shut up, no matter what.

No Gods, No Monsters by Cadwell Turnbull

When Laina's brother gets shot and killed, a video recording the incident reveals something shocking: a giant wolf which, when shot, turns into a naked man. The video gets leaked, and little by little monsters start coming out into the open. But there’s a reason monsters have decided to step put of hiding, something otherworldly and far more dangerous than them. Follows a large cast of characters, among them members of a werewolf pack.

Bonus AKA I haven't read these yet but they seem really cool

Rules for Werewolves by Kirk Lynn

A story told entirely in dialogue, Rules For Werewolves follows a group of young outsiders, drifting from place to place and squatting in empty suburban houses as they try to build a life in a world that has no room for them,

Howl by Shaun David Hutchinson

Young adult. New kid in town, Virgil Knox, has been attacked by a monster. Only, no one believes it was actually a monster, insisting it must've been a bear. But Virgil knows it was really a monster, and now he fears that it will come back for him - or that he will become one himself.

The Devourers by Indra Das

In Kolkata, India, college professor Alok encounters a mysterious stranger who tells him a story of a race of people at once man and beast, and a wanderer in 17th century Mughal who is torn between two worlds.

Thor by Wayne Smith

Thor the German Shepherd is devoted to his suburban family, and when Uncle Ted comes to live with his family, that devotion is put to the test. For Ted is no longer human, and Thor can sense that there is something dark and dangerous hiding inside him, something which he must keep his family safe from.

Wild by Meghan O'Brien

Selene leads a lonely life, avoiding forming close relationships to keep herself and others safe as she turns into a remorseless wolf creature every full moon. Eve is a forensic pathologist who has sworn off romantic relationships after having had an ex cheat on her, focusing instead on catching murderers. But when a masked man attacks Eve and Selene comes to her rescue, the two become unavoidably intertwined as a monster even more dangerous than Selene stalks the streets.

Wolfsong by T.J. Klune

Ox Matheson's neighbors, the Bennett family, aren't ordinary people: they're shapeshifters, able to turn into wolves. Intrigued by their lifestyle, Ox becomes close to the youngest son, Joe. But when murder comes to town, Joe ends up leaving, and won't return until years later. Now adults, the feelings between them can't be denied any longer.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Too big to care

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in BOSTON with Randall "XKCD" Munroe (Apr 11), then PROVIDENCE (Apr 12), and beyond!

Remember the first time you used Google search? It was like magic. After years of progressively worsening search quality from Altavista and Yahoo, Google was literally stunning, a gateway to the very best things on the internet.

Today, Google has a 90% search market-share. They got it the hard way: they cheated. Google spends tens of billions of dollars on payola in order to ensure that they are the default search engine behind every search box you encounter on every device, every service and every website:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/03/not-feeling-lucky/#fundamental-laws-of-economics

Not coincidentally, Google's search is getting progressively, monotonically worse. It is a cesspool of botshit, spam, scams, and nonsense. Important resources that I never bothered to bookmark because I could find them with a quick Google search no longer show up in the first ten screens of results:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Even after all that payola, Google is still absurdly profitable. They have so much money, they were able to do a $80 billion stock buyback. Just a few months later, Google fired 12,000 skilled technical workers. Essentially, Google is saying that they don't need to spend money on quality, because we're all locked into using Google search. It's cheaper to buy the default search box everywhere in the world than it is to make a product that is so good that even if we tried another search engine, we'd still prefer Google.

This is enshittification. Google is shifting value away from end users (searchers) and business customers (advertisers, publishers and merchants) to itself:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/05/the-map-is-not-the-territory/#apor-locksmith

And here's the thing: there are search engines out there that are so good that if you just try them, you'll get that same feeling you got the first time you tried Google.

When I was in Tucson last month on my book-tour for my new novel The Bezzle, I crashed with my pals Patrick and Teresa Nielsen Hayden. I've know them since I was a teenager (Patrick is my editor).

We were sitting in his living room on our laptops – just like old times! – and Patrick asked me if I'd tried Kagi, a new search-engine.

Teresa chimed in, extolling the advanced search features, the "lenses" that surfaced specific kinds of resources on the web.

I hadn't even heard of Kagi, but the Nielsen Haydens are among the most effective researchers I know – both in their professional editorial lives and in their many obsessive hobbies. If it was good enough for them…

I tried it. It was magic.

No, seriously. All those things Google couldn't find anymore? Top of the search pile. Queries that generated pages of spam in Google results? Fucking pristine on Kagi – the right answers, over and over again.

That was before I started playing with Kagi's lenses and other bells and whistles, which elevated the search experience from "magic" to sorcerous.

The catch is that Kagi costs money – after 100 queries, they want you to cough up $10/month ($14 for a couple or $20 for a family with up to six accounts, and some kid-specific features):

https://kagi.com/settings?p=billing_plan&plan=family

I immediately bought a family plan. I've been using it for a month. I've basically stopped using Google search altogether.

Kagi just let me get a lot more done, and I assumed that they were some kind of wildly capitalized startup that was running their own crawl and and their own data-centers. But this morning, I read Jason Koebler's 404 Media report on his own experiences using it:

https://www.404media.co/friendship-ended-with-google-now-kagi-is-my-best-friend/

Koebler's piece contained a key detail that I'd somehow missed:

When you search on Kagi, the service makes a series of “anonymized API calls to traditional search indexes like Google, Yandex, Mojeek, and Brave,” as well as a handful of other specialized search engines, Wikimedia Commons, Flickr, etc. Kagi then combines this with its own web index and news index (for news searches) to build the results pages that you see. So, essentially, you are getting some mix of Google search results combined with results from other indexes.

In other words: Kagi is a heavily customized, anonymized front-end to Google.

The implications of this are stunning. It means that Google's enshittified search-results are a choice. Those ad-strewn, sub-Altavista, spam-drowned search pages are a feature, not a bug. Google prefers those results to Kagi, because Google makes more money out of shit than they would out of delivering a good product:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/4/2/24117976/best-printer-2024-home-use-office-use-labels-school-homework

No wonder Google spends a whole-ass Twitter every year to make sure you never try a rival search engine. Bottom line: they ran the numbers and figured out their most profitable course of action is to enshittify their flagship product and bribe their "competitors" like Apple and Samsung so that you never try another search engine and have another one of those magic moments that sent all those Jeeves-askin' Yahooers to Google a quarter-century ago.

One of my favorite TV comedy bits is Lily Tomlin as Ernestine the AT&T operator; Tomlin would do these pitches for the Bell System and end every ad with "We don't care. We don't have to. We're the phone company":

https://snltranscripts.jt.org/76/76aphonecompany.phtml

Speaking of TV comedy: this week saw FTC chair Lina Khan appear on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. It was amazing:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaDTiWaYfcM

The coverage of Khan's appearance has focused on Stewart's revelation that when he was doing a show on Apple TV, the company prohibited him from interviewing her (presumably because of her hostility to tech monopolies):

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/apple-got-caught-censoring-its-own

But for me, the big moment came when Khan described tech monopolists as "too big to care."

What a phrase!

Since the subprime crisis, we're all familiar with businesses being "too big to fail" and "too big to jail." But "too big to care?" Oof, that got me right in the feels.

Because that's what it feels like to use enshittified Google. That's what it feels like to discover that Kagi – the good search engine – is mostly Google with the weights adjusted to serve users, not shareholders.

Google used to care. They cared because they were worried about competitors and regulators. They cared because their workers made them care:

https://www.vox.com/future-perfect/2019/4/4/18295933/google-cancels-ai-ethics-board

Google doesn't care anymore. They don't have to. They're the search company.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

[tagamantra]

A WORLD SHORN OF LIGHT. 

A KNIGHT TORN FROM POWER AND MEMORY. 

Walk. Uncover the truth of your death. Reattain your Enlightenment. Cultivate Benevolent Violence. Master the Blade. Master the Mantra. Bring the world to heel. Shake Heaven's Pillars. Find out who did this to you. Choose the right side of the blade when you do. NO OTHER WAY. KILL THEM OR KILL THEM.

LET THY WILL BE DONE. 

UNTIL ALL BEINGS ARE FREE.

Giant cats turned into apartment complexes, ghost horse steeds that tire not, walking giant mechanical armors turned into public transportation, charnel wizards summoning the long-dead, witches wielding the Pureflame of Creation, the Machine God beginning its slick advance into forever progress... the Age of Furor is upon us. The Latter Day of the Law.

Upon the peak of their vengeance, will they choose the right blade? The Termagant Buddha watches closely.

THE KNIGHT VAGRANT is an utter progression fantasy web novel in the universe of HINGSAJAGRA, a world wrought from Esoteric Buddhism and Monsoon Asia. Monsoon Asia Disco Elysium Xianxia. 32 Chapters, 102k+ and counting. Arc 2, ADAMANTINE SWORD, is chunky and done.

WHAT TO EXPECT

꩜ Immersive Fantasy universe that can be aptly described as Monsoon Asia Esotericist Disco Elysium Xianxia. The Utter Islands is a borderless Sword and Gun Fantasy Setting.

🌪️ Androgynous Amnesiac Weak to Strong Martyr Versatile MC (learning both Martial Arts and Magick) who uses multiple means of Cultivation (Meditation, Alchemy, Sword, Magick, Dual, and more), with a personality not unlike Goku from Dragon Ball. Trans Enby MC (both and neither male/female, 10th mark of a Buddha)

✊ Ruthless, Bloody, Brutal Skull On Stone Martial Arts

🔥 Esoteric Cultivation Systems inspired by IRL esoteric systems. All of them feuding and trying to out-cultivate each other.

‼️ Content Warnings for the following: Violence, Body Horror, Horror, Sexual Content (Optional!), Bigotry, Warfare, Class Struggle, Revolution, Betrayals, Strong Language

If any of this got you interested please consider checking it out over on Royal Road!

Cover by: @alexconnolly!

[9151967]

I know they dropped it owing to adaptation difficulties if not a changed opinion (it is possibly too melodramatic, if not a callback to The Tholian Web), but the thing I appreciate about the initial plan for The Search for Spock was how the crew would be able to see Spock's ghost and talk to it, to be haunted by it. For Kirk, that would have been the ultimate manifestation of his guilt at losing Spock. It would've connected that much harder to Saavik's words and David's echo that he has never faced death in The Wrath of Khan.

Using a read more for the screencaps and a rambling 2k or so wordcount. (This took me 3 days to write and edit, good night.)

Unless this is developed further in the novelization, it is worth noting that Saavik's impression of Kirk would come from Spock and David's impression is skewed at best owing to his distrust and hatred of Starfleet, on top of growing up with an absent father who he knows is a part of Starfleet. Kirk and Carol may have had good intentions with staying separated and keeping David ignorant, but it's clearly backfired now that the two must meet. In other words, one character sees an idealized version of Kirk whereas the other might as well be looking at the Kirk Drift. Neither character really knows Kirk, so neither can really understand the impact of this phrase. In both cases, Saavik and David are making an observation. It may seem harsh of them, but neither say it lightly given Saavik is still upset over her own test performance and David is trying to apologize to his father after they just held a funeral service for Spock. (His decision to use it as a lead-in is certainly a choice! But in David's defense, Kirk was about to hightail it out of there (just like he did in Amok Time when McCoy tried telling him about Spock) so David says the one thing to get him to pause and sit down.)

The Wrath of Khan repeats the words "you have never faced death" to Kirk in order to highlight how resilient and downright lucky Kirk is. A captain can hardly afford to become emotional or fall apart when the inevitable death occurs, and Kirk had resilience forged into him early with his childhood on Tarsus IV. Likewise, despite difficult and dangerous missions, Kirk still manages to keep the majority of his crew alive and the ship intact (the TMP novelization makes this clearer in that Kirk's mission was the only mission that did not result in major deaths or loss of a ship). Perhaps luck is not the best word to describe how successful Kirk was as a captain, but there is a degree of it in how he is able to keep beating the odds and survive, and it's that exceptional reputation he earned in his youth that he is struggling against now that he is older and risen to the rank of admiral. Is he still this same Kirk who could seemingly pull off the impossible or has he changed too much and for the worse? (Is it a lazy rehash of his plot line from TMP? Maybe, but TWK pushes the stakes on it beyond what TMP did by killing Spock. There's no undoing this, no going back.)

With the exception of his past on the USS Farragut, Kirk is not shown to fall to pieces over what their five year mission asks of them, the possibility of death. He's regretted decisions that led to unnecessary crew deaths and has come close to tears over losing someone like Edith Keeler or Miramanee to be sure, but we don't ever see Kirk being stopped or questioning himself because of those deaths. (The Apple aside; he absolutely questions his actions in that episode but he's not questioning his entire perspective, not like he does after Spock dies, and crucially it takes both McCoy and Spock to talk Kirk out of where he's going with his guilt. David, for all of his earlier callousness to Kirk, is trying to help him walk through this painful experience in the same way in TWK. Talk about growth and a change of heart.) He keeps moving forward despite the pain, even when it is the deaths of his own brother and sister-in-law.

(As an aside, Rayna is an interesting outlier in my mind, despite how he is shown to be deeply affected by her death, to the point of Spock choosing to wipe his memory of her. He acts out of character in Requiem for Methuselah and more like the Kirk Drift with how impulsive and emotional he is, to the point where I wonder if he was drugged or just plain drunk after drinking the alcohol. Kirk does want love but he never chooses it over his career. Carol is living proof of that with how they chose to stay apart for their work. Well, for the most part it holds true—Amok Time, "I can't let Spock die, can I, Bones? And he will if we go to Altair. I owe him my life a dozen times over. Isn't that worth a career? He's my friend." Insane way to show Kirk cares about Spock in an episode where the writers were concerned Kirk looked callous compared to McCoy, lol. That choice didn't lead to anything big in the fandom, nope.)

Pair all of this with the revelation that Kirk is the only cadet to ever beat the no-win scenario of the Kobayashi Maru test and a pattern emerges of someone who has seen and experienced death, but has yet to be fully stopped or altered by it. This is why he is told twice that "you have never faced death" and why he only agrees with that sentiment after losing Spock, responding that he has cheated death and tricked his way out of it. To face death would be to accept it fully as its own natural outcome rather than changing conditions to create a new outcome like he had done with the Kobayashi Maru.* Spock's death is not something he could have changed or prevented, no matter how creative he is. It goes against those past successes and eleventh hour miracles from his youth.

*Kirk's solution to the Kobayashi Maru is probably its own post subject. It's not cheating to my mind both because David is clearly biased when he says it and because Kirk's choice to take it multiple times until he found the solution he wanted shows a strong sense of will. He failed twice but was undeterred and would not accept a simulation guaranteed to result in someone's death. That's still a quality Starfleet would want in its officers, to say nothing of his creativity in the face of pressure. Starfleet would be foolish to pass over that. It's a test of character on multiple fronts—it tests the cadet as a person, what they stand for, and it tests the strength of their loyalty and oath given the test specifically uses the political hot potato of The Neutral Zone and all that entering it entails for The Federation. Given what Kirk's solution does, why wouldn't Starfleet want to keep a cadet like that?

A lot of what Kirk says here is a rebuke of his past success with the Kobayashi Maru rather than past events he has experienced as a captain, although if one really wants to make this painful, it still holds that Kirk is reassessing everything in this moment given the "no, not like this" comment.

Kirk uses the word "cheated" to now describe his actions whereas before he rejected the word. Kirk is now using it in the same way David had originally scoffed at his solution to the test, "He cheated."

Spock calls his own sacrifice his solution to the Kobayashi Maru, so when Kirk now says "patted myself on the back for my ingenuity," it's recalling his earlier "commendation for original thinking" comment and finding it hollow now that Spock is dead.

And when Kirk says he knows nothing, what he means is that Spock's death is different from everything he has experienced before.

It hits far closer to home for Kirk to lose his first officer, his lead science officer, and his friend after all the time they have worked together and survived dangerous missions. Had it been McCoy that sacrificed his life to save the ship, Kirk would still be saying the above because McCoy is his only other friend on the Enterprise. It's one part the closeness of their relationships and one part a matter of their shared backgrounds as members of Starfleet who have agreed to the risks of their work. After all, both Spock and McCoy have found their lives endangered over the course of the five year mission, but each and every time they stay alive, be it parasites, rare diseases, Vulcan biology, freak accidents, and so on. The same goes for the rest of the core crew of Uhura, Sulu, Chekov, Scotty, and Chapel.

It is with the death of Spock that Kirk has to finally face death as it is. There was no miracle cure, no quick thinking to prevent it, nothing he or McCoy could've done. Either Spock gave his life to save the ship or everyone on the USS Enterprise died. (Hell of a Kobayashi Maru test, one part the acceptance of death, one part a test of commitment and loyalty. Loyalty to who (one's captain or one's self?) or what (Starfleet or The Federation or one's beliefs?) is left to the individual's choice, hence it being a test of character.)

Crucially, this is all coming from a Kirk who has gone into the admiralty after completing his five year mission as captain of the Enterprise and has stayed in the position since the events of TMP (why he stayed... I don't get it, unless the message is supposed to be that he realizes he is too old for it all, but that makes the open ending of TMP a wasted opportunity in order to repeat the same issue again for TWK. But I haven't read the novelization for TWK so if they explain it, I wouldn't know). It's the terrible confirmation of his fears of being too old for his chosen work, that he is right to stay out of the captaincy. Spock is dead now that Kirk is older and years removed from his experiences as a captain, but such an event had never happened when Kirk was younger. They always found a way to avoid death in his younger days. Spock himself has escaped death before, even when he chose to risk his own life (The Galileo Seven, Operation: Annihilate, and The Immunity Syndrome come to mind). Until this one time, Spock has always lived but Kirk couldn't get to him fast enough, not that doing so could have changed anything, and that is what cuts Kirk to his core: His record-breaking, commendation for creativity, and all the other praise means nothing now because he couldn't save Spock. "Not like this ... I know nothing."

For Kirk to then see Spock's image and hear his voice in SFS would follow from this new-found failure and guilt ("I don't like to lose" as he tells Saavik), and it would act as the literal fulfillment of his facing death by having to confront Spock's ghost.

("Noblest part of myself" "our dearest blood" and what if I just start wailing? Especially when Spock holds the very qualities we value in humans and ascribe to humanity—compassion and empathy—and how Spock managed to bring Kirk and McCoy back to their selves in TMP. It's fine, this choice of words.)

It is still chilling to see Spock's voice and mannerisms come from McCoy and what that means for them—that McCoy is not fully himself, that Kirk stands to lose his two closest friends in one go if Spock's katra cannot be returned. (I'm just guessing here as I still need to finish the film. Yes, I stopped watching to write this. Kirkinsanity is a hell of my own making. I don't know if McCoy could physically and mentally withstand that long term, you know? Would it be exhausting carrying another person's consciousness within you, regardless of your prior relationship with them? Or would it be easy, like putting on a glove and taking it back off? Or would it be a third thing and their two consciousnesses merge together into something new, someone new, the longer the two are joined?)

(I know Kirk says that as in "Are you losing your grip on reality?" but it also fits with how McCoy holds Spock's very essence. Yeah, McCoy could be losing his mind to Spock, Kirk.)

[spiceofvy]

hi I sent the octopus ask! 🐙🐙🐙

(i just discovered the octopus emoji and it's adorable)

Anyway I mean octopus/sticky as very physically clingy, like arms and legs most be around object of affection at all times (bordering on cartoon logic but might as well have fun with it no?)

Like I think being a human octopus "clingy as fuck" would be sometimes adorable and intimate but also come with a lot of challenges because sometimes it's hot, things get sweaty very fast, it would be hard to escape the bed in the morning, thank fuck for seatbelt laws because a human octopus reader would be all over the drivers lap sort of thing, basically taking physical touch is a love language and dailing it to twelve you know.

Personally I really don't care for being touched these days, (though I wished people could pet me more) so I guess I wanted to see someone work with the concept of super physical contact.

Sorry if my original ask was confusing tho. I learned the use of the word "stickiness" from a an English translation of a chinese web novel (as in clingy as sin) and had visited the aquarium recently so that muddled my use of language by a lot.

TXT - Reader is super clingy

a/n: hiii! thank you for sending an ask again! i totally get your struggle, i also muddle my words a lot especially in english ._. in your original ask you said that any group is okay, so i went with txt because i thought that this prompt would fit them super well. i hope you enjoy 🐙

cws: gender neutral reader, sfw, pure fluff

Yeonjun: The one to enjoy it the least. He just needs a lot of room to move around, he really enjoys being independent. But he will always be very kind about it, holding your hand for half an hour before letting go so you can at least get your fill on physical contact. He still returns to your koala hugs every night, because if he is honest about it, he can't sleep without your hugs anymore…

Soobin: So much teasing from his members. They love joking about how their tough leader was turned into a plushie by his significant other. But he also enjoys it, especially in a more private setting. Finally he can let go and trust that someone holds him anyway. Literally.

Beomgyu: My poor boy overheats really easily, so too much physical contact would kill him especially in the summer. So he really can't stand cuddling for too long. He loves it though in the winter and probably turns into the octopus himself and uses your body warmth

Taehyun: A bit flustered, especially in front of his bandmates. But in private he loves it. Likes to cuddle you all day and definitely clings to your back when you cook and the other way around. Sometimes just carries you around on his back when you don't feel like leaving the bed.

Kai: So happy. Such a happy boy. He is super clingy and cuddly himself, If he likes someone and so he is just over the moon to be with you. Hold his hand all day, sleep on him, sit on his lap during group activities. He doesn't care if he gets sweaty or there are weird looks. He just wants to get all the physical contact that he can.

[mariacallous]

Paul, Weiss, Rifkind, Wharton & Garrison, a nearly 150-year-old law firm, bent the knee to President Donald Trump Thursday evening when it struck a deal to get rid of the president’s executive order apparently punishing the firm for once employing a lawyer who worked on a case targeting the president.

Trump’s executive order purported to ban the law firm from government contracts, restrict its lawyers from federal buildings and require clients to disclose their employment of the firm when seeking government contracts. It would have been an existential blow to the firm, which operates a broad multinational practice that encompasses everything from mergers and acquisitions to white-collar defense to civil rights and free speech litigation. The deal to make the order go away, as described in a statement posted by Trump on Thursday, requires the firm to restrict its diversity, equity and inclusion practices and provide $40 million in pro bono services to the administration. In effect, the firm has not simply paid off, but joined the administration.

Paul Weiss’ acquiescence is the latest example of a great menace stalking the country in the early days of Trump’s second term: cowardice.

Let’s be clear about what happened here, Trump’s mafioso government extorted the firm to give up its historic support for civil rights and join itself to enacting his autocratic agenda. The firm could have challenged this illegal extortion, as the firm Perkins Coie, also targeted by the administration, has done with success so far, but instead it chose Vichy-style collaboration.

“We are gratified that the President has agreed to withdraw the Executive Order concerning Paul, Weiss,” Brad Karp, Paul Weiss chairman, said in a statement included in Trump’s post. “We look forward to an engaged and constructive relationship with the President and his Administration.”

This is particularly galling from a firm with a laudable history of standing up for civil rights and the advancement of minority groups. Paul Weiss was the first mixed Jewish and WASP law firm in New York City. It was the first American law firm to employ a Black associate, a Black woman associate and first to make a woman a partner. The firm also worked alongside former Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall on the Brown v. Board of Education case that ended formal segregation in schools, fought for more inclusive immigration laws during and after the Holocaust and defended free speech rights in a landmark case involving D.H. Lawrence’s novel “Lady Chatterley’s Lover.”

To protect its present pecuniary interests, the firm has now decided to throw that history in the gutter by accepting surrender to Trump’s anti-DEI initiatives.

Acquiescing to the Trump administration’s anti-DEI pressure campaign should not be seen in the light of the debate over the merits or demerits of DEI that preceded this administration. Instead, it should be understood as the Trump administration understands it: a frontal assault on civil rights law and desegregation.

Administration allies have all but admitted as much, as conservative activist Chris Rufo did in an interview with The New York Times’ Ross Douthat.

The administration’s actions are also very clear on this. Just look at what the Department of Defense is doing.

Links to web pages about Black, Latino and female military servicemembers buried at Arlington Cemetery have been deleted from parts of the cemetery’s web site. Web pages touting the accomplishments of Black servicemembers, including baseball great Jackie Robinson, were taken down and affixed with the label “DEI” in the page’s URL. (The administration reversed course and restored some pages, including Robinson’s, following outrage from sports media on Thursday.)

The General Services Administration also removed a requirement for contractors to not operate segregated facilities if they wanted to obtain contracts.

This is what eliminating DEI means to the Trump administration. And now, that’s what it means for Paul Weiss.

The firm has already begun to accept the Trump administration’s principles. Some time after the executive order came down, but before the firm allowed itself to be extorted, the firm took down a web page and links to its Center to Combat Hate. The firm launched the center in May 2024 to perform litigation alongside civil rights groups “to confront and redress hate-driven violence and intimidation” in order to “foster a more just and equitable society.” All links to it, including on the social media web site LinkedIn, are now dead.

Paul Weiss is not alone among elite institutions in choosing a whimper, not a bang when threatened by the Trump autocracy. Universities are largely bending over backwards to protect their own financial interests. Administrators at Columbia University are considering allowing itself to be extorted into giving up the university’s autonomy in order to keep $400 million in grants that the administration is using as leverage. The administration is also targeting the University of Pennsylvania and Johns Hopkins University with similar extortion efforts to seize control of their operations, with dozens of others likely to follow suit.

Nonprofits are being cowed into deleting references to diversity and inclusion, transgender people and changing the name of the Gulf of Mexico, sometimes after facing direct threats from the administration.

Corporations are sucking up and paying up to the administration in pursuit of government contracts, protection from investigation or prosecution and any number of corrupt acts they can extract from the nation’s mob boss. In some cases, corporate leaders, particularly in Silicon Valley, have fully embraced autocratic theories of government as a way to further enrich and empower themselves.

This cowardice is exactly what the Trump administration counts on to succeed. It is also precisely how a liberal democracy can succumb to autocracy: Private actors are putting their private interests above the common good. They have forgotten that liberalism and democracy do not just provide rights that protect their private interests, but demand public duties of citizens to uphold them. Those who choose otherwise accept their own corruption.

These elite institutions cannot, and will not save liberalism. Nor will they save democracy. They can join the people or they can join the autocrats in the public and private spheres who wish to rule as kings.

It’s time to ask: Which side are you on?