#the prose is so fluid and lovely

[wiltkingart]

LOVED mtmtm and the way you write. are there any writers, artists, or anthologies you would recommend that exist in that same trans/horror/erotica/fantasy crossroads?

a few! not many that hit all points at once, but here's some reads you might enjoy:

Bound in Flesh: An Anthology of Trans Body Horror - exactly as it says, this is a collection of 13 stories by trans and nonbinary writers. i liked it a lot, thought it had a lot of great stories, and it made me feel really excited about the future (and present) of trans horror.

Body after Body by Briar Ripley Page - "Sex, drugs, violence, cannibalism, psychic powers, a catgirl (sort of)", body after body is a novella that describes itself as a "lurid, dreamlike, amoral queer/trans sci-fi trash literature at least four or five people have been waiting for". i can confirm everyone i know who has read it has loved it, myself included.

Eyetooth by Mars Adler - trans horror erotica novelette with medkink + wound fingering (one of my absolute favorite things!) between an art student and a mysterious androgynous doctor. LOVED the surgery scene.

The Scales of Seduction by Rien Gray - not horror. This one's an f/f trans erotic romance novella between the last living Basilisk and Medusa, but i have to mention it because its a strong contender for my book of the year. Loved loved loved the writing. Poetic prose that had me highlighting lines on every page. Just astoundingly wonderful.

Kissing Carrion by Gemma Files - a collection of short horror stories "where obsession is stronger than death... body, soul, time and space itself, are all fluid and treacherous... vampires ache for more than simply blood... where the only escape from the darkness within is to embrace it". none of these stories are trans, but it has some queer horror elements that have left a heavy mark on my brain. gemma files has been a big influence on my writing in so many ways and reading this collection last year was one of the big things that pushed me to take the leap to write something like MtMtM!

that's all for now. i have a ton of weird trans indie sex books on itch.io bookmarked i still need to check out, but people are free to leave their own recs in the replies. and i talk a lot more about books over on my personal blog (@wiltking).

[kenzieluvsnanami]

❝ 𝐈'𝐦 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬, 𝐨𝐡 𝐬𝐨 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬 ❞ - flo, bending my rules *:･ﾟ✧。.: kenzieluvsnanami :: a nanami first date drabble

// cw slightly suggestive, reader is insecure and a lil damaged, a bit angst ig (like no happy ending.. yet), lowercase intended, v casual short prose // 0.7k words

thinking about going on a first date with my fave, the feeling of not just anticipation about what it'd be like moving your relationship into this new romantic space but also a distinct sense of... nervousness?

it wasn't like you had never been on a date, your experience of men being not incredibly extensive but enough to know how a first date should go: murmured compliments under the low light of an intimate restaurant as you got to know each other further. maybe even getting to know one another in a more physical sense, your entangled bodies getting impossibly closer in the early hours of the morning as you caressed crevices with a light touch as he methodically pushed into you, bodily fluids exchanging in an act which you would think make you even closer. it was like a ritual at this point, meeting someone, going on a few dates and then eventually the spark would fizzle out - not really due to anyones demerit but more just general incompatibility.

it was a cycle that you had seemed doomed to repeat... but somehow this date felt different? even the way it was arranged, nanami had clearly gone through a lot of effort to make the evening perfect for the two of you; you both communicating about what activities you preferred and also touching on what you didn’t as much (your mutual dislike for coffee dates was comforting).

most dates hadn't really bothered to ask some of the things that nanami had, assuming rather that you would like them to take charge and almost escort you to whatever place they deemed you to be worthy of. honestly, it was refreshing to be able to express your wants without feeling like you were being too confrontational or “bossy”.

the two of you had decided to visit the nearby beach that friday, the forecast predicting a beautifully clear day with an enjoyable light breeze. fate seemed to have lined up with both of you having a free spot in your schedules to meet up that evening and soak up the sunset at a nearby seafood restaurant.

now what may have been making you so nervous about this date is the fact that it was all so… new. most of your dates never seemed to want to make an attempt to be unique when it came to date ideas, trying too hard to play it safe (or cheap, depending on your viewpoint).

you were genuinely excited to go on this date as it was an actual outing - breaking away from the familiar inner city and travelling out to the rural coast. you loved the seaside; the fresh, salty air in your lungs alongside the silky sand beneath your feet seemed like exactly the relaxation you both needed after a long, stressful week.

thinking about how perfect this date would be is helping you to calm down slightly but another thought almost completely deflates you; what do you wear?

now the two of you had discussed going for a brief dip in the ocean so you should bring a swimsuit to change into. but then which one to bring? you didn’t want to cover up completely in a one piece but then you also didn’t want to be as bare as the typical triangle bikini left you.

it felt almost… shameful to be that “naked” infront of nanami. you didn’t want to come off as being “easy” or feel like your being judged. you knew nanami wasn’t really the type to infer or assume anything based purely of something so superficial like what bathing suit you wore but you just really wanted him to… like you. you didn’t want him to reject you in the same way that other men have. you really wanted this to work.

thursday evening left you tossing and turning in bed, sleep seeming like a fantasy at this point - your nerves turning into stomach churning anxiety. what if he didn’t like your hair? your body? your smile? or just you in total. maybe you were better off as acquaintances, his mellow and calm demeanour clashing with your more uninhibited, affable disposition.

i guess you’d only find out tomorrow.

a/n : i love this song sm like i must have listened to it at least 100x. i do want to write abt the actual date but itll take me a hot minute.

credits to @/cafekitsune for the dividers!!!!!!

likes and reblogs make me squirt!

[phantomarine]

Hey what were you trying to say in your “it gets good at page 1001” post

Was it more of a comment directed at yourself ( self degradation), is it satire about perfectionism,

Is it supposed to be inspirational for Beginners webcomic creators, or we’re you just in a bad mood?

More of a warning against self-sabotage, because I see it so much. Sometimes it's tied to perfectionism, sometimes it's the opposite - people surrendering to imperfection when they don't really have to.

Creator chat incoming. I'll put it under the deelybob for anyone who wants to read it 👇

I've been in the webcomic sphere for several years now and I've seen so many people introduce their comic with 'I know it's very long and not easy to read, and I won't be going back and changing anything about what I've already made - but please critique it so I can make the rest of the pages better and attract a bigger audience from now on.'

And that's a hard thing to respond to. If a reader can't get through all those existing pages without being confused or bored, then how can they get to the good stuff that lies past them?

So much of gaining an audience is about actively making it easy to 'fall into' a work. Without that easy entry point, it's always going to be an uphill battle to build an audience, no matter how good the later chapters get. There are outliers, but most webcomics won't be those outliers, especially with thousands of them available nowadays. Some people love the grind, but most people will jump to a new tab and try to find something less frustrating.

And webcomic creation is particularly cursed by its very nature. Creators are hesitant to go back and edit pages, even once they've figured out more details about their craft or story structure. It's mostly because of the seeming permanence of it all - the art takes ages and the words feel unchangeable if even one other person has read them. To go back and edit is to publicly admit your failings, right? That's how it feels. What do you MEAN you didn't get it right the first time? You were supposed to do it live, and do it PERFECTLY!

But ideally it shouldn't be any different than prose writing, which is ALL ABOUT finding the story in those edits. And because your story is digital, you can go back and change things whenever you feel like it. A webcomic is fluid.

And if you're thinking 'I should just redraw my whole first chapter' - NO! Hell no, old art can be a part of the appeal! It's far more about finding little tricks to convey your story/characters more clearly. I have read some first chapters with janky art that made me fall completely in love with the story and cast. It's not about the art - as with all things comic-related, it's about conveyance.

Examples I've seen and some I've used myself: A single extra page with a meaningful interaction can solidify the theme of a character's arc. One additional 5-to-10-page scene can help add visual context for an offscreen event where there was none before. Adding a map can tell people where the characters currently are. Changing a character design can help if they get often confused with another character. Redoing your lettering to make it more legible is a huge one too.

In the end, I just don't want people to be afraid of small edits. When I got feedback about the bad clarity of my own work, I knew it would take some time to fix those problems. It wasn't fun to think about or to do, but I'm glad I did it in the end - because it would have limited my audience tremendously. With just a bit of extra effort, I opened a door that wasn't there before, and it now leads more people even more easily to 'the good stuff.'

tl;dr You started your webcomic for a reason, and you're learning more things about its characters, story, and craft every day. Don't be afraid to go back to old pages and inject some of that wisdom through editing. Even a little can go a long way.

***Caveat: If your goal is to just create chaotically, with no goal of gaining an audience, you are a wild and free little thing, and I am in awe of you. This whole rant doesn't apply to you, and you are stronger than me.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

WIP Tag Game

Tagged by @blueleopard555 for what I think is probably a WIP game given the context clues lol.

My words are: Flirting, Kindness, and Debate

Tagging: @seyaryminamoto @magixfairyix @elsa-fogen & @yellowumbrella134

My words for you guys are: hurt, healing, & fear

Directions: You match a snippet of a WIP for a fic (or art) to each word. It can be any ship, canon, AU, or series!

*Cries in in just put out the last chapter of my latest long fic and have no WIPs other than bullet points* *Doesn't even have any working titles panic*

So this is going to be really interesting.

For debate: the closet thing that I have is this super messy, unpolished snippet with no prose whatsoever. Completely un-formatted too. It's from a fic that I may or may not even get to but have a concept for; Azula basically shuts down completely and enters this semi-catatonic unfeeling state.

“It’s fine zuko. I’m not sad.” “You lost everything you should feel upset!” “I used to. I felt a lot of things, betrayal, hurt, anger, shame… But one day it just stopped hurting. This is better. I don’t want to feel.” .oOo. "you always had ursa and iroh. I was always alone." “you had mai and tylee.” "they didn't really like me. They were only there because they were afraid of what would have happened if they weren’t" “That’s not true.” “It is.” “Azula.” “You said that I’m a liar but I’ve only ever told you the truth exactly as it was. Father did want to kill you, he doesn’t love you and he never will. He’ll always think that you have no honor. And mother doesn’t love me. She will always hate and fear me. That’s just how it is.”

For Flirting: Unnamed Sokkla fic that will double as both last weeks & this weeks entry for Earth & Mars

Hunger. Love. In a way they are the same emotion. She has never felt things in the ways that people tell her she should.  Slash! Blast! The fire reflects on his blade before it deflects. He charges at her as she charges at him. Resentment. Desire. These can also sometimes become one and the same. 

Sometimes she doesn’t know where one ends and the other begins.

For Kindness: Untitled fic concept where Icy is hit with the kindness spell in (4kids) season 2 and it doesn't wear off.

It floods in like jingling sleigh bells, like laughter and the fluid song of the ice. Like peppermint kisses on rosy cheeks and hands stuffed into mittens. And it is overwhelming, physically nauseating as claws of light magic slice her darkness to ribbons. She tries to conjure up her favorite images but she finds that her focus lasping…redirecting. Mental images of faeries pinned by the wings to the floor are spliced with faeries skipping and laughing. A wanna be witch sobbing over books that Stormy had swatted out of her arms is interrupted by a hand, that Icy only faintly recognizes as her own, helping her up. The entirety of Magix blanketed in an eternal snow is overtaken by a cozy winter in the city with open fires and sticks heavy with marshmallows. Icy grits her teeth. The spell is seeping its way in, snuffing the malice and plucking evil inclinations right out of her as she tries fruitlessly to snatch them back.

[scarlet--wiccan]

Are there any magic system ideas from other stories you have read that you would like to see implemented in Marvel's magic system?

Not necessarily. For one thing, I actually think it's important that magic remain somewhat fluid. The function of magic, specifically spellcasting, is to meet the needs of the story. So, it kind of has to be adaptable. Besides, one of the things I like about Marvel is that is there are so many different kinds of magic, and I think that imposing a universal system would kind of detract from that.

There are already some universal underpinnings in the Marvel world that I like, such as the breakdown of eco-, exo-, and ego-centric power sources. Fine-tuning that concept and using it more consistently would help magic feel more coherent and grounded across the board, but still leave room for each character or realm to feel unique.

Having said that, I think my favorite magic system, ever, is the one from the Young Wizards series by Diane Duane. It revolves primarily around a universal language, called the Speech, that can be used to name or describe pretty much anything in reality. Spells, therefore, take the form of complex sentences, equations, sometimes songs or poems, which describe, in detail, everything involved and what it needs to do, how it needs to change, etc. But beyond having the power command or transform reality, the Speech allows wizards to communicate and form relationships with almost any kind of life, any kind of matter, any kind of energy. It's incredibly versatile, and I really love that while it can be very exacting and clinical, it requires an empathetic, relational approach with a real human core.

Part of what I like about this system is that it bridges the gap between magic and science. It often requires wizards to have a detailed knowledge of whatever they're working with, and it provides opportunities to demonstrate that knowledge to the reader, which is an important part of how you make magic feel earned. That's something that's missing in a lot of modern comics-- we don't get to see the thought process or the effort that goes into spell casting. And because the system is simultaneously complex and intuitive-- it's just language, after all-- once your reader is reasonably familiar, you can actually get away with glossing over the details when you need to keep a scene moving. The reader will infer the detail on their own because you've taught them how the system works. It's just... brilliant. Duane is a genius to me, and I love these books so much.

Using universal language or code as magic works really well for characters like Doctor Strange-- I think they tried to do something similar in the movies, only far less artful-- and the correlation of practical knowledge to magical efficacy is perfect for something like Wanda's hex power. Importing the Young Wizards system into Marvel comics wholesale probably wouldn't work out-- it kind of relies on prose-- but there are a lot of great lessons and helpful ways of thinking about magic to be gained from Duane's writing.

[unfamiliaris]

Okay soooo Terzo hcs when, nsfw solo but also just like random thoughts you have on him

HIII HI OKAY I HAVE A MILLION ..... nsfw in the down there part bc I'm embarrassed ⤵️ but I'll do general stuff up here:

worlds most transgender man. To me. post top surgery but has no plans on bottom surgery

he's canonically short and I think he prefers his partners like, absurdly taller than him. like. have to tilt your head up to look them in the eye absurd.

despite having a lot of partners, I think he's mostly aromantic, with omega being his one exception. other than him, I don't think he sees himself as wanting to be With anyone, and even with omega they're not like fully and wholly exclusive. romantically they don't really see a need to involve other people but they definitely both sleep around and neither of them care

I think he has a really big sweet tooth, pastries are his go-to but he also loves dark chocolate paired with anything.

on the topic of food - he's SUCHHH a wine snob it's a little excessive. will ask for the year of every wine at every establishment he ever dines out at, WILL swirl the glass and tell you about the "notes" and such. omega finds it endearing but his brothers find it annoying

again on the topic of food, I think he can cook very well, but he can't bake. (which sucks for him considering how much he loves sweets 😭) cooking is far more loose and fluid than baking, and while I think he appreciates getting down to detail he just doesn't have the patience baking can require of someone and it makes him mess things up.

I think he's a dog person... I feel like he gives cat person vibes to most people but. idk. maybe it's just cause I've interacted w so many different dog owners that I'm more inclined to think of ppl as dog ppl but. that's what I get off of him

I think he's a very talented writer, even outside of music. I'd imagine he has a nice prose

ok time for horny stuff. hiii freaks and weirdos

a switch, but a full time bottom. he might on very rare occasions whip out the strap but it is not with any regularity

size queen . glances at omega. need I say more

LOUD. it's hard for them to fuck in secret because terzo is a goddamn screamer

big time oral fixation. loves to be kissing, licking, or sucking something. but also wouldn't say no to being on the receiving end of any one of those things

SUPER sensitive, REALLY easy to get him riled up at a moment's notice. especially his neck and thighs..

barely has any limits at all. it kind of scares omega sometimes with how far he'll ask him to go, even knowing how hurt he could get (but he always gets what he wants anyway...)

[lonely-darksun]

Hi

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

✦ Hey there. call me alexx (damian, alistar, felix, az/azrael, and darksun all also work)

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

heres a little get to know me:

☾ pronouns: he/they/fae/it (most basic pronouns)

☾ most preffered neopronouns: void/rot/sin/that/fall/hollow/hallow/ abyss/abyssal

☾ gender: trans masc, neoboy, xenogender

☾ sexuality: i'm bi/uranic, diamoric, ambiamorous, and ace/aro but technically i'm cupio/quoi

☾ kin types: black Alexander archipelago wolf, spotted hyena, crow, raven, vampire, fae, demon, void, night, moon, space, storm (specifically lightning/thunder and rain), dragon, angel/divine/god???, and possibly some kind of nature kin, nightmare kin, and even something that's boney and dirty but in a eldritch way.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

fun facts about me:

☾ im a pagan witch (specifically Im a Norse/Hellenic polytheist mainly, and a ecclectic witch), im alternative mostly emo leaning, my favorite animal is wolves, I use tone tags sometimes, and im in love with rainy/cold weather.

☾ hobbies include: dancing, writing (both prose and poetry), singing, acting, drawing, reading, and being chronically online.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

☾ Warning: i am an extremely chaotic person and some things that may be posted could be...intreseting.

☾ Also, I probably have autism and or ADHD, so that too.

⋆☀︎. Link to my pronouns page:

⋆☀︎. Link to my Wattpad:

Link to my Pronouns.cc:

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

☾ DNI: Basic criteria, homophobic, transphobic, racist, antisemitic, ableist, z00philes, against therians, anti- neo-pronoun users, anti- xeno-gender users, radqueers, proship, etc. etc.(General DNI applies) (edited it because I realized that it may be unclear lmao)

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

☾ Tags!

darksuns reblogs- self explainitory. things I'm rebloging

darksuns sins- poetry/writing things

darksuns stars- alterhuman/otherkin/nonhuman/therian

darksuns sparks- is something a post I made that's not about the above

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

[thevioletdaffodil]

be my tangerine (wlw prose-poetry)

cup after cup after cup my body overflows with you, did i drink too much of you? (i'm sorry, i love you. i'm sorry i love you) this is how i imagine amniotic fluid must be, this orange glow, am i made of you now, or did i make you, and how much of you am i and how much of me are you? (remember when i ate a whole box of tangerines?)

how do we calculate, how do we count, when you're so fluid in your movements and you work with my breath like threadwork, you embroider me wholly, your sharp needles weaving in and out of my being, but decorating me by the end of it. everywhere i go, i see you, and when i see you, i see the world looking back at me and everything i know, i want to tell you and everything you tell me, i want to ingrain in my brain like my first language, i want to know you by instinct, more than a choice, and i want to love you on purpose.

i want to thank you for ruining my life (i love you) i want to tell you that if you think you're a weapon, a knife, something that pierces through, i'll be damned if i don't kiss all naked blades with your name on them, bleed my tongue and my teeth. i won't need

red lipsticks anymore.

you see, what i'm saying is, i want to carry your pretty ass home, and when you're not with me, i want to kiss the screen goodnight if it symbolises kissing your head, what i'm saying, my love, is that if you like orange flavoured candies, i'll make myself bite-sized and sugary-sweet, so you can consume me bit by bit, nibbling, giggling, lying next to me, breast to breast, bosom to bosom, your curves melting into mine, and i'll be damned if i don't combust into bright orange flames when you pass orange flavoured kisses into my mouth. fire, sweet sweet fire.

what i'm saying is, is that i want to absorb you completely, and never run out of you, write greasy cheesy love songs for you, inhale your scent (you're my tangerine), bruise my knuckles to fight for you, believe in a god just to keep repeating your name in every prayer i whisper,

and make it all religious,

your love of the starfish and the sea,

and the oranges, and maybe,

just maybe,

possibly me?

what i'm saying is, your love has the consistency of a lotion and the intensity of light,

my skin is starved of you,

will you colour my breath bright

orange

every other night?

/will you be my tangerine?/

(i'm not sorry anymore, i'm proud of loving you.)

[lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit]

Sitting in your requests box

Could I possibly ask for a Viktor & Reader (either familial or platonic, please) headcanons or a oneshot where Viktor (reluctantly) comforts the reader after a bad dream? (I know this is probably OOC for Viktor but. but. Cat dad)

We do love Dadktor in this household.

Cracked Glass

Viktor wouldn't call himself a father, or at least not a very good one.

Although his daughter's letters were all signed off with love, he could feel the bitterness beneath the lines, the cold regret of his silence in every "merry Christmas" or "please write soon". He could see the deep indents in the paper as the years dragged on, where shy curiosity about his absence turned to frustration. As Alena's curly handwriting became neater and clearer to read, so did her feelings towards him.

She loved him to bits, but she just wanted some sort of proof that he loved her back.

Viktor would have given it if holding a pen was more familiar to him than holding a gun was. If ink and blood were switched. If he wasn't embarrassed that his daughter's English and overall prose was better than his own. If he believed that anything he could say could make any of it better.

It wouldn't. A single letter from him would warrant a landslide of questions, open up cans of worms and shaken booze he'd rather keep closed and in his own flask.

A father would have done so regardless of the consequences. Viktor would not have considered himself as such, no matter how much the pain of it trickled down his tight throat and heaving chest.

In times like this, he chugged whatever illicit beverage was closest to him.

The last bottle of Sunset Rose Cocktail.

Slightly better than radiator fluid, the drink that felt like downing shattered glass, disgusting enough to take his mind off things.

Mrs May would probably scold him for drinking one of the last bottles they had. However, Viktor knew her well enough. Her hardened gaze would soften, as would she. She'd leave him be with a saddened smile and a sigh, then go and sit in a leather booth off to the side or return to the upstairs office. Anywhere that would remind her, and all of them, of Mr May.

And Viktor would continue to drink.

His guts—even after being hardened by years of questionable nutrition choices in the trenches, prison and even the speakeasy itself—protested loudly. Cracked glass indeed. No one would miss it.

He was doing the joint a favour.

It was mainly empty, anyway. The employees they could spare—and there were a few—had been sent on last minute liquor searches. Usual customers such as Mr Sable had supposedly been held back by meetings in the real world. Horatio had fallen asleep by the door, or so the loud snoring from outside implied. Zib and his group were lounging on stage in a depressing silence and drunken stupor.

The rest of the gun-savvy staff—very few, maybe two or three—left behind were those recovering from avoidable injuries. At their head was Viktor himself, reluctantly manning the bar. Feared gunslinger to an old tabby locked behind the counter with weak knees, the permanent head of the stragglers.

None of the other runners were happy with their predicament either. They were visibly restless, pacing the floor and muttering to themselves as if it would heal their injuries any faster. No one wanted to end up like Viktor: that was common knowledge, and offended him just a little.

The only one who was actually resting did so off to the side, a twisted wrist bandaged up in strips of linen. Their head was buried between their arms, sleeping soundly.

Viktor had been watching them for a while out of the corner of his eye. Y/N, he vaguely heard someone call them.

They were one of the speakeasy's new rumrunners, small and fluffy—although to be fair, that was what most of Lackadaisy's youngsters looked like to him.

The only difference between them was the amount of tolerance he had in regards to each one. Ivy was at the top of the list, Rocky was at the bottom, and that ginger Calvin kid was lost somewhere in the middle because he never really built up the courage to stay in Viktor's presence for longer than a minute at a time.

Y/N stirred, then shivered, and finally woke up with a start. Glistening beads of sweat and wide, terrified eyes sparkled in the light of the cavern's lamps, dimmed to save on the bills.

They looked around, and finally locked eyes with Viktor. He looked down and away, put away the empty bottle and continued to polish a shot glass. Both the glass and the rag were comically small between his paws, and it took him all of his concentration to avoid crushing either.

He didn't hear the rumrunner slowly pad up to the counter, pull up a chair and only paid attention when they cleared their throat.

"Vat?" he asked, gruffly. The growl was unintentional.

"Can I talk to you?" asked Y/N. "I had a bad dream…"

A bartender needs to look like someone the patronage can tell their troubles to, Mrs May had told him many times.

It of course insinuated that he looked nothing of the sort. Other members of staff often joked that smiling properly would kill him one of these days. Vinegar, they called him, sour old Vinegar. They thought he wasn't listening, of course. He never gave any indication that he ever did, but Viktor heard it all. The cave's echoey atmosphere was the bane of secret rumours and the friend of those defamed by them. Neither brought any sense of victory when accomplished, but oftentimes were the only things worth latching onto in times of trouble. Viktor never confronted any of the stories about him. Many would think that he simply didn't care enough to. The claw marks on the underside of the bar begged to differ.

No smile, and few public clues or knowledge about his past. Sensible patrons and staff members would see that as reason enough to distance themselves from him. There were always exceptions.

The groggy-eyed feline slumped into the stool before him was one of them.

Viktor gave Y/N reluctant permission with a dismissive wave. He turned to the lines of bottles and glasses behind the counter. He had cleaned them religiously and multiple times that evening alone. One more time wouldn't hurt.

"I had a nightmare."

He hummed, rearranging the whiskey.

"I was on a run, alone. I don't know why. There was no one at all, not even in the speakeasy. I… I think everyone was dead…"

Dead.

That was a word he didn't hear too often—ironic considering his line of work—and least of all from the mouth of a kid. Oh sure, Rocky weaved it into poetry and aggressive patrons spat it out when they cursed out God over their drinks, but the thought of applying it to the rest of the staff, so bluntly, undisguised?

He stopped to properly listen, ears cocked.

"I was driving the car alone down a road by the river—I don't remember exactly where—and it was dark. There was nothing in front of me, nothing behind me, only under. The ground was made of glass everywhere I looked and the further I drove, the more it cracked. I couldn't stop and I couldn't get out. I just had to keep driving."

Their voice shuddered and broke, cracking like the road that haunted them. Viktor had since abandoned the shelves, electing instead to lean against the counter. He listened even more carefully. Politely, granted, but listening nonetheless.

"And then it split. I fell and I crashed down into freezing black water and I could get out. I couldn't swim, I just sank. Like a rock. I can't remember how I woke up. I think… I think I died too…"

The rumrunner's eyes glanced up towards Viktor. They were glazed with a glassy sheen, and…

Raspberries!—to borrow an expression from Ivy.

Were those tears running down their cheeks?

Raspberries indeed.

"My pop died during a run from the cops," they said, sniffling. "We don't even know why. Ma said he was trying to provide for us, he probably stole something. The feds chased him down to the riverbank and he lost control. They found the car the next morning and I… I can't end up like him, I can't die! My ma and sisters need me, we need the money! I can't leave them, I can't…"

They furiously wiped away the streams of tears that had only gotten bigger and wetter as they spoke.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you all this, you probably don't care, I'm…"

They hung their head, almost in shame.

Viktor said nothing.

He poured them a glass of whiskey—you never knew—and then he did something he never did before. He laid his paw on their shoulder.

The cat looked up again. Their expression twisted with somehow even more fear than the prospect of drowning did. Viktor didn't expect anything less, nor anything more.

He didn't pull away. Despite their grimace of fear, he could see the softness in their eyes.

Viktor wasn't one to use his imagination that often; what use was dreaming when a bullet could hit you any second? The only fantasy he had conjured up was his daughter stepping off a boat and running down the gangplank into his arms.

She had that same, soft look.

In Y/N, he could see Alena.

It was a semblance close enough to melt his heart. A little.

"It gets better," he told them gruffly. "It's not real."

He was never good with words, and used them sparingly. Tonight, however, they seemed to be enough to slow the flow of tears.

Y/N blinked up at him. "Really?"

A childish response to be sure, but one that Alena would have probably replied with as well.

Viktor's throat tightened. "Yes." He coughed. "Now; bar is a mess, and broom only need one good hand. To work."

The young feline smiled and hopped over the counter. "To work," they echoed.

They downed the whiskey with an enthusiasm only rivaled by Ivy's own and snatched up the broom. They darted between Viktor's legs and fluffy tail, sweeping shards of broken glass up and away. With a beaming grin and a theatrical bow, they demanded him for another task, claiming they could take anything on even with a broken wrist.

And for the first time in what felt like—and probably was—forever, Viktor smiled back.

[ladyinrainbowglasses]

Lolita" as a facet read of the rise of fascism

Title may not make sense. Don't care.

Anyway, was drawn into a discussion about "Lolita" on Facebook, when an old quote from TERF wizard surfaced. In this interview, she referred to "Lolita" as a love story.

Proud of what I wrote there, so copy-pasta:

"Lolita" IS a book with superlative literary merit. It has some of the most beautiful and elegant prose of any prose work in the Western literary canon.

Nabokov made a deliberate choice to write Humbert as articulate, verbally suave, persuasive, and downright charming *because the entire point is that people can justify anything to themselves and will attempt to justify their most unconscionable actions with obfuscation. Intelligent and/or sophisticated people are incredibly good at this obfuscation, to the point that they can charm you into agreeing with their truly monstrous actions.*

If you fall for Humbert Humbert, you will fall for a Bill Cosby. You will fall for a Jim Jones. You will fall for an Adolph Hitler. If rhetoric can persuade you that the blatantly evil and monstrous ISN'T actually bad, then you are normal, but weak.

The criticism IS that a major frailty of the human condition is allowing ourselves and others to tell us lies about our own moral rightness so we can sleep.

On a separate comment, assuring another person that Nabokov was NOT a pedo apologist:

"Lolita" is not an easy read, because the point is not that pedophilia is good - the subtext leaking around Humbert's interpretations of events are VERY clear on that point - it is because Humbert is so elegant and persuasive that an unaware reader will actually start to buy in to his logic.

The cautionary tale is inherently "Be careful who you listen to, no matter how persuasive or charming their rhetoric is. They can get you to agree to the greatest depravity if you are not careful."

The existence of "Lolita" porn and every single film ever made of the story shows that a lot of men in particular do not get the point, while a lot of women do not read it, because they assume it is yet another apologia for the sexualization of girl children.

Nabokov himself insisted that the cover NEVER sexualize Lo. His own instructions on the cover were "NO GIRLS!!!!"

He referred to her as his "poor little girl" and made it clear that 'Lolita' is Humbert's fantasy of the sexually tempting nymphet, while 'Lo', the actual little girl, is already a survivor of sexual molestation who takes the path of least resistance when her stepfather causes her mother's death and kidnaps her. Lo IS inappropriately sexual with adults, but as Humbert discovers the first time he rapes her, it is because someone else beat him to be the first to take sexual advantage of this child.

Edifying for anyone who has not worked with children - a common sign of child sexual abuse is a child who is inappropriately sexual, especially with adults. A person trained in spotting potential flags of an abused child will notice that Lo has a whole 4th of July worth of flags from the moment she appears on the page.

Though "Lolita" as one book on a list of books that people constantly misinterpret so that they can pretend the book supports their thoughts and actions would be fascinating. "1984" is the other one that leaps to mind.

So, how does that circle back to fascism?

We are not quite there yet.

First, I took a bong out to the back porch and listened to "The Books and Movie Guy" about the lack of stories that take place inside the rise of fascism. We, meaning English-speaking audiences, tend to prefer our WWII narrative: fascism is here, it is very clearly bad, and we few, we noble few, we band of brothers are here to ride for ruin and the world's ending. Now the evil fascist leader is dead and we are all covered in ticker tape and champagne and various bodily fluids, hurrah. And suddenly, No One was fascist *ANYMORE*. Enjoy your civilization, you fascist... well, not anymore ~uwu~ ... dragons.

That point is true.

My God, is it true.

It is really hard for us to see "It Can Happen Here" as a narrative, because such a huge part of the American psyche is wrapped up in the narrative of us as THE ELECT. The religious terrorists who formed our first real systems of laws had a religion that was based deeply in the reading of signs and symbols to determine if you were to be allowed into eternal paradise or condemned to eternal suffering. Eventually, it became too complicated to figure out what was and what was not a revelation from God as to whether you personally were one of THE ELECT. Instead, we got to the much simpler idea that if you were born into the community that had the TRUE WORD OF GOD, if you didn't leave, you were probably pretty solid. After all, if God didn't want you personally in heaven, why would he bother having you be born to the only group of people that were joining him in eternity?

This is a vast oversimplification, but gives a general idea as to how America the Divinely Inspired really took root over here.

Every country that has fallen to fascism, therefore, did so because they lacked some of the unique wonderful specialness inherent to Americans, who never, ever do anything bad ever. Especially not politically, my dear doctor.

Thesis established, whys supported, the next step in the conclusion for me was recommending the "Clone Wars" TV series. It takes the lackluster "We are fighting a war and there's like incremental stuff building up over time and something is bad and fascism now!?" that the prequel films deliver as stand alones, and fills in all the things that lead to the decline of republicanism and democracy and the rise of fascism. The allowing of institutions to grow hidebound and rules-lawyery. The impatience with a system that needs to consider all possible angles when there is an EXTANT EMERGENCY RIGHT NOW AND PEOPLE ARE FUCKING DYING WHILE YOU WINDBAGS ARE BLOVIATING. People feeling disenfranchised, silenced, shoved aside.

Filoni makes it work on an extra step, because the audience also gets to watch the decline of Anakin Skywalker into Darth Vader. How does a well-meaning kid, awkward, dorky, but sweet and kind-hearted (established way better in the show than the movie) get to the point where he is willing to slaughter children with his own hands - to murder his own pregnant wife in the support of a fascist regime who could not give less of a fuck about him personally.

THAT is where the disparity connects in my lovely ADHD brain.

If "Lolita" is fundamentally a novel about the use of rhetoric to allow oneself to excuse any depravity, then can it not also be read as cautionary to the rise of fascism?

Obviously, sexual violence against children does not need to get metaphorical. People who brutalize kids aren't thinking of their actions as symbolic of greater problems writ large, nor are the fascists and other planet rapers thinking of more intimate forms of violence as reflective of their own goals. Putting that out there.

But reading in this train of thought opens another line of thought into the insight of propaganda efforts in supporting demagoguery. The violence of fascism is the inherent violence of control. All control forcibly taken is traumatic violence and violation.

The mental gymnastics and linguistic cul-de-sacs Humbert Humbert deals in are all the forms of rhetoric of a classic fascist leader. She is so much stronger. She needs his protection because she is so much weaker. She must have enjoyed it, because he enjoyed it. It has to be solipsistic, because he has to believe he is justified in his actions - if Dolores is a real person - if she is Lo, not his idea of Lolita - then he has done an evil thing.

If we learned anything from Nuremberg, it is that people's minds will go through the most extraordinary pericombobulations to arrive at the idea that one's own actions are always justifiable, and therefore, if not always, at least mostly correct.

Does it really reflect a much broader trend, to read the point of view of a selfish, vain, deluded man using his own opinion of his own innate superiority as having interesting parallels to the rise of fascism?

I think I'll leave that up to Twitter.

[autolenaphilia]

Fluids by May Leitz

Fluids by the truly multi-talented May Leitz, musician, youtube video essayist, and author, is the goriest book I have ever read. It’s also about queer love, identity, and being transfem. This is a truly fucked-up sapphic love story. It’s the opposite of tenderqueer.

My recommendation is that if a story about sapphic love and trans identity that is also an incredibly gory and disturbing horror book appeals to you, go read it. The prose is beautiful and disturbing, a nightmare about queer identity and abusive love. It’s available in print or audiobook format from Leitz’s bandcamp, and in e-book form via her patreon. Pay attention to the trigger warnings.

I’m going to put the rest of this book beneath a read-more, because to talk cogently about the novel I had to spoil it. And it’s quite an experience, so if you care about spoilers, read it first if you can stomach it.

It’s about Lauren, a cis lesbian woman who meets Dahlia, a young trans woman via the internet. Lauren is a deeply fucked-up individual, who hates herself, is deeply selfish, who lacks meaning in her life and takes it out violently on others, dragging others into her self-destruction spiral. Lauren is truly in love with Dahlia, but uses Dahlia to find meaning in life for herself.

And Dahlia is also fucked-up and violent. She grew up with abusive and transmisogynistic parents, and like many abused children, had her parents conception of the person she should be forced upon her, making it difficult to form her own independent identity. So Lauren steps in and becomes a second mother to Dahlia, assigning her various identities to perform, complete with alternative names. And Dahlia is so unsure of her own identity, as an abused child, as someone who has recently realized she are a trans woman, that she accepts this. Her most violent act is trying to kill Lauren shortly after they meet in person in order to steal her identity and life. Yet she is less fucked-up than Lauren wants her to be, as she wants Dahlia to be a reflection of herself. Lauren herself feels like a void, and uses and abuses Dahlia to find identity herself.

The resulting relationship is of course incredibly toxic. It is sado-masochistic way, way beyond any conception of safe, sane and consensual. It’s co-dependent, as both depend on the other for their own sense of self. Yet Lauren is the dominant partner. Lauren hurts Dahlia, and tells her “I can teach you how to like it.”

And Lauren drags Dahlia into an orgy of violence and murder at a combined casino/hotel. It’s a book full of detailed descriptions of violence and gore. There is plenty of the eponymous fluids in this book, mostly blood and vomit. There is a point to all the violence, the themes of identity and a well-developed characterization that I already described. Yet it doesn’t make the violence any less disturbing.

The plot and violence is phantasmagorical and surreal, it feels like an intense nightmare and runs on that logic. The violence is so extreme, with people staying alive and conscious when they really shouldn’t, that it in itself becomes dreamlike despite the detailed descriptions. A major part of the plot is literally that Lauren is able to commit violence with impunity as the casino/hotel as this ruthless capitalist entity cleans up after her crimes to avoid dealing with the police. She becomes a serial killer out of a nightmare, no one hearing the screams coming from the hotel rooms. There is nothing outright supernatural, but realism doesn’t matter here.

Lauren is a self-described monster, but most of the book is from her POV, and she feels like a complex character. She has flaws that are relatable, she just takes it into horror novel extremes. Same thing with Dahlia, who is more sympathetic.

And the book does speak to the side of us that has violent murder fantasies. That’s what makes good horror violence not merely disgusting but actually disturbing. It is because for many of us the violent acts in this book is something we would never do in real life, but may fantasize about. If you are abused or oppressed, you often will fantasize to strike back in ways that are entirely disproportionate. A fantasy of gaining absolute power, of life and death over those who have power over you. The violent fantasy is an outlet for the resentment that builds up.

Such fantasies are rooted in emotions of fears and anger, and like most private fantasies entirely self-indulgent. It’s not pretty, and such violence is usually something people don’t actually want to do, because they recognize it’s wrong, but still find appealing as fantasy. The book’s initial act of violence is Dahlia pouring gasoline on her boy clothes and then light it and the house on fire as she escape her abusive transmisogynistic parents. And then as Lauren takes the lead, the violence only grows more extreme, selfish and disproportionate. It becomes about torturing and kill the rich dude who treats you like a sex object and wants to buy your body with his money. And then torture and mutilate his privileged cishet wife to death. It’s dark, it’s disturbing, but I get it.

And yet, despite all the violence and darkness, the book is not entirely nihilistic. It ends on a relatively hopeful note of transfem resillence, despite everything. Dahlia realizes that she can survive on her own, that she can form her own identity, she can be independent, she doesn’t need Lauren’s destructive and abusive love. Dahlia walks away to be her own person. The fact she has endured and done so much makes it even more resonant. She has the trauma of being abused and raped, and even lost her right hand, yet she survives and will try to live. It’s a beautiful ending, for a disturbing, but beautiful book.

[diyasgarden]

OOOOUU THOSE SEEM LIKE INTERESTING BOOKS (immediately adding them to goodreads bc whatever diya reads is five stars already) and tell me about them!!

and i’ve been doing good, thank you! just about to go to sleep

HAHAH. I LOVE YOU!!

So "My Husband" by Maud Ventura follows a woman who is very infatuated with the concept of love and her husband over the course of a week. Genuinely so captivating, I did not want to put it down! The main character is so intense and there is a sense of uneasiness that there is something more than what you can see. I think the ending of the book ties everything together perfectly, and shows how a simple concept can be very powerful in writing.

I'm still reading "The Woman Destroyed" but it's a small anthology of three short stories focused on the lives of different woman in mid-20th century Paris. Simone De Beauvoir was also a philosopher and social theorist, and her beliefs and ideology on womanhood, relationship, motherhood, and sex really shine through even in the literary format. I also think her style of prose is beautiful and fluid, so you're easily transported into the minds of the characters. It's an experience for your mind and senses!

Ah I'm glad!! Sleep well love <33

[convulsionofhonesty]

top 5 books of 2023

i read many less books (for fun at least) than i read last year but it was really nice to do this kind of post for 2022 so i'm repeating for 2023

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1. the idiot - elif batuman - making a reappearance from last year ... i know many people don't like to count rereads in their top books of the year since they weren't new favorites but for the impact this book had on me this year i simply couldn't omit it. i read this no less than 3 times in 2023 ... it became so much more relatable and painful than it was upon first read in 2022 and instantly became my current favorite book of all time. not a day passes that i do not think about this. stunning, meandering character study about a floundering 18/19 year old who is, unfortunately, in all the best and worst ways, the fictional character that most represents myself. i have already done 10x my share of pr work for this book on this account so i will leave the review here. but please read this.

2. contradictions in the design - matthew olzmann - almost dethroned siken's crush as my favorite poetry collection ... the tumblr girls will understand how serious this is. absolutely gorgeous. i teared up at a solid 50% of the poems. contains countless life altering lines and a really profound mixture of the abstract and the concrete, the general/philosophical and the specific/mundane. love.

3. when the emperor was divine - julie otsuka - quick read with deceptively simple prose that's absolutely drenched with symbolism. demands to be read with a highlighter in hand and a murder wall behind you to decipher each iteration of each motif. under 200 pages but you could easily spend weeks trying to pull everything out of it. just on a craft level this is absolutely sublime, fiction at its finest.

4. fun home - allison bechdel - this is of course one of the graphic novels that everyone has heard of but certainly not enough people have read. because if you haven't read this i implore you to change that. from the very first page i knew that this was crafted with such unbelievable intentionality. so many little details in the backgrounds of panels carry immense weight; this is a graphic novel masterclass. everything is perfectly balanced and thought-out. again on a craft level, and an emotional level, this blew me away.

5 - autobiography of red - anne carson - most inventive book i read probably? a disjointed yet fluid verse novel that follows a fascinating main character and winds effortlessly through mythology and reality, paying no attention to the usual borders of geography, time, or the body. i don't know how to describe this other than as a deeply confusing book that you will probably not understand at all but your body will somehow still feel everything. you will understand it on a subconscious level more than on a conscious one.

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honorable mentions (bc last year i did a top 10 but my opinions past this point are not as strong and also i don't want to write all that)

- body work by melissa febos

- sirens and muses by antonia angress

- comfort woman by nora okja keller

[blinkbones]

Title: We Have Always Lived in the Castle Author: Shirley Jackson There is a beautiful large house on the edge of town, and two sisters live there with their old uncle. The town loathes the inhabitants of the Blackwood house. The youngest, Mary Katherine Blackwood, is our unsettling narrator. She weaves a tale of anxiety and mystery -- or is it magic and madness? What secrets lie in the earth, buried beneath the vegetable garden, or by the pond? And who killed the girls' family members, and why?

Recency bias begone! I really want to say that this was my favorite read of the year. It's certainly a favorite. The prose is so fluid, like clear water rushing in a wild little brook, transparent and cold.

Merricat is a wicked main character, and a fascinating point of view to follow. She's often very poetic, but also has a tendency to clinically state what she does without bothering with a justification or reason. You're meant to infer, most likely, based on her teetering psychology and the account of events that she gives.

Merricat I love you, I love you Merricat. And Constance too. This novel has such strong characters, themes and prose. I can't think of a single weakness it may have. I fear it is a perfect book, that sets out to do something and then does it, and with skill. Like a really nice embroidery. You can say that you don't like the picture it paints, or even that you don't like embroidery altogether, but this one is clearly well made, with not a thread, not a stitch, out of place.

I was tempted to put off reading this book. I already knew the general plot of it, and wasn't convinced that it would make for the cozy reading experience I needed to recover from the dog of a flu I caught and the dog of a year I've had. How wrong was I. This was, overwhelmingly, a comforting, warm read. It wrapped me in a blanket that felt familiar even though it was new, warm and dry on the soft earth outside. That's how I felt. If I'm honest, I'm not sure it was the goal. I know this story is meant to be mysterious and unsettling. And I have no trouble imagining how it could feel that way. Merricat seems to always be on the verge of a breakdown, and there is clearly murderer in the nearby area. The house is wound in uneasy tension and so are its inhabitants. Everything, everyone except me. And I loved every part of it, every ambivalent word, every ambiguous character; its weird girls and its sacralized food.

First Shirley Jackson book I read. I definitely want to read more. Most likely, the friend who lobbied me into getting this one will coax me into getting Hill house. We shall see.

[the-mspfa-200-favourites-project]

Drinking Problem

Drinking Problem is fantastic and if you aren’t reading it then what the heck are you even DOING. It’s hard for me to explain what it’s doing right though, especially since I’m in kind of a brain fog where I feel like I can’t analyze good anymore. But I’ll give it my best shot, because it deserves it.

Let’s start with the obvious, the main thing you will find when you open up Drinking Problem for the first time, which is that Drinking Problem’s Art Style. Is just OOZING style. Dutch Angles and other really extreme visual shots are the bread and butter of Drinking Problem. Every panel is a masterpiece. Especially that animation. It’s so fluid and…mesmerizing…The color pallet is so good as well.

Of course, that would just be one thing if Drinking Problem had been just good with art in a more noticeable way than most fanadventures I’ve looked at. But it goes deeper. There’s this sense of sleezy atmosphere, almost akin to I’m Good, I’m Gone or Old Fiji Water.Png, that really sells the main character and her party-hardy ways. Also, there’s already some wacky meta narrative stuff going on in this comic, and you know that I love me some good wacky meta narrative. It’s by somebody who knows just how to tell a story in both a visually engaging way and also knows how to write good, interesting, compelling prose, and literally what more could you possibly ask for. Okay that’s as much as my brain fog will manage for analysis so that’s the end of this review but I hope at least SOMEBODY out there will pick this up. Unfortunately, it has been unlisted for some reason since I created the spreadsheet? But that doesn’t matter…you can just search it up on google or ask around your local MSPFA enjoyers and they’ll probably have a link on standby? So…just be aware of that.

[alucience]

Okay first of all, big fan of your work. Love your prose and strive to achieve writing as fluid as yours. Loved Before the Sun Rises and Workings of a Human Specimen.

Anyways, I just got done reading Structure of Blood and wanted to ask: What makes Shishimatsu cry, resulting in everyone getting sent to the crib? Is it because he can't handle the Creovorce's experiments?

AAAAA THAN YOU SO MUCH QVQ I'm so flattered hhhhhh

As far as Anti Ichi goes, he's a sensitive little muffin. He cries over lots of things - sometimes when he's hungry, sometimes when he's lonely, and sometimes for seemingly no reason - though that's likely from the torment and abuse (and yeah, the experiments and tests) they received at the lab (the abuse being more psychological than physical). One could argue he's the most in-tune with his emotions than any of the six, and - besides when he's bullied relentlessly for it - he doesn't really have a problem allowing himself to shed a tear.

Thank you for sending the ask!!