#this is probably the last of these i will write this year lmao

[cielsosinfel]

reading log #1100111 1100001 1111001

I was keeping reading logs of books and comics I'd completed here, and then on Dreamwidth... but I think I'm gonna end up doing them here first again before archiving on Dreamwidth lol. I have had a very bad time following up on things like this the last few months but I HAVE been finishing books (or giving up on them in frustration.) So, here's some recent ones and some meandering thoughts (if I had typed these up closer to finishing the book I would have much more to say, but alas, memory is a sieve)

CW for mentions of CSA/incest in the "Angels Before Man" section.

A Man of Lies by Ben Crane: This came up in the library database when I searched for Queer Fiction, and it was described as a heist novel with a gay lead. It's the author's first novel, too- he was a film screenwriter (none of his movies seem to have been very successful, though.) It sure is a heist novel! The MC, Barret, is an enforcer for the biggest mob boss in the Midwestern states, and falls in love with the boss' top accountant, Mickey. They want more out of life than the criminal underworld, and hatch a plot to steal shitloads of cash from their boss and flee together. But the plot is of course found out, and Mickey is killed right in front of Barret, and now Barret is forced to pay off the debt or be killed himself. But he has a better idea- one more risky scheme to to make millions and live the life Mickey wanted for them.

I actually enjoyed this one a lot!! It's very fast-paced. There are way too many POVs- it switches characters every chapter, and the narrator PoV shifts from first-person when it's Barret to close-third-person for everyone else, so it felt hectic at times. I think you can definitely tell this was written by someone used to writing film scripts- so many scenes are written in such a way that feel like they'd perfectly translate to a film scene (I got the feeling the author might be wanting to turn this into a film at some point?) There's also some flashback fuckery near the end I found kind of obnoxious but oh well, it didn't detract from the book.

It's a super ridiculous book at it's core and definitely leans hard into the tropes of its genre. Some things made me roll my eyes, especially with Barret's narration (I'm a liar! You'll never know when I'm telling the truth!) but there were some sexy moments with his suffering. I REALLY liked Cass (long-time petty criminal with a bitterness toward the world, looking for her big break), Johnny Boy (Cass' pacifist friend who just wants to do right by everyone and keep his friends safe, but can never meet Cass' expectations and is always the target of her anger), and Pickens (long-suffering genius lockpicker who just wants to get paid without getting dragged into other peoples' bullshit. He is, dare I say it, my poor little meow meow.)

It ends in a ridiculous but good plot-twist that actually makes me want to read the sequel when it comes out (this is rare. I have very low patience for multi-book series anymore lmao.) So yeah. Quick, easy, fun read, excited for more.

Idol, Burning by Rin Usami (tl. Asa Yoneda): This is a book about a high school girl's life in idol fandom, but so much more than that. I wasn't sure what I was expecting going into this- I only heard about it because I saw someone talk about an essay they wrote on this, about how it shows how idol fandom could be considered feminist- but it really was not what I expected just going off that!!

This is about a girl who is being failed by many people around her. This is a girl who has undiagnosed dyslexia and learning disabilities; a girl who is very depressed, suicidal and self-harming; a girl with a worsening eating disorder; a girl with a total disconnect from the people around her. She falls into idol fandom for a particular idol, a boy who she has been obsessed with since she was a young child watching him as a 12 year old, performing as Peter Pan, and it becomes her solace, her refuge, and a crutch. She doesn't understand herself or her life, so she obsesses over trying to understand every ;ittle detail about her oshi, from the smallest facial movements to the tone of his social media text posts.

When her idol is suddenly in a media storm for hitting a woman- a woman he may have been secretly dating- it's like a spiderweb of cracks in a dam are suddenly broken through and she's struggling to tread water.

I feel like what this book really captures is how being deeply involved in fandom, and being super passionate for a hobby, and online communities of likeminded fans, can both help and hurt. The more depressed Akari gets because of her family life, of failing in school, of being treated as an idiot because of ableist barriers she doesn't even realize are blocking her path forward, the more she fixates on her idol- constantly watching and rewatching shows and interviews to try to see beyond her oshi's public persona, updating her blog with in-depth reviews of albums or summaries of interviews, buying up all of the merchandise she can for what amounts to an all-consuming shrine in her room filled with trash and uneaten food.

Her oshi becomes the only reason she gets up and leaves the house, the only reason she gets dressed (always in blue, her oshi's official color), the only reason she continues to work (she needs the money to support her oshi), the only reason she interacts socially outside her family (with fandom, with other obsessed fans who understand why she's so emotionally reliant on a celebrity that she'll nvver truly meet). But this hyperfixation is undeniably a large part of why her life is stalling and backsliding, even if it's not the /root/ cause, but a symptom presenting an out-sized impact.

Anyway, it like, resonated with me as someone who was also once a young girl with undiagnosed dyslexia/learning disabilities, with all-devouring depression, with suicidal urges, with eating disorders no one recognized. And no support structure but my hyperfixations on fictional characters and the friendships I had with other fans via internet communities. It's just such a painful, painful book to read because even though the cultural context and fandom context is so completely different (I was born and raised in the US, I have no idea what girls in Japan go through), it resonated SO MUCH.

The ending is also something I like a lot- it's not a Happy Ending(TM) at all, but I found it much more impactful in its realism. Akari is not "better," she is still in such a bad place, but she's taking these small steps to break the self-destructive cycle she's ended up with. And that's what's important- is the small steps, and the acknowledgment that there are steps to be taken at all.

Also, the ending of the English edition has a letter written by the author addressing her younger brother, who has dyslexia, and discussing the failures of the Japanese education system regarding disabled students. She says in the letter herself, that her brother will never read it because it's in English, and she'll likely never say any of what she wrote to him, but the letter was still so, so, so affecting... Just, this acknowledgment of both her brother's struggles, and how she added to those struggles when they were younger and she understood less. Much like how Akari's older sister in the novel can't understand why Akari struggles so much, and takes out her own frustration on Akari- her frustration at bearing so much responsibility in a family with a single, over-worked mother, and no matter how much she tries to steer her sister in the right direction and help her (taking on the role of a mother for her), nothing seems to help. It's not something children can help! It's the adults refusing to see that the system they set in place is not helping these children!!

But the letter also says that though the Japanese education system almost failed the author's brother, he was able to go to a school specifically for children with learning disabilities, and he excelled and now leads a happy, successful life. Akari doesn't get that in the book; Akari's story is the other side of the coin. But where the ending of Akari's story is not quite happy, it's like a soothing balm to read that the author's real, living, breathing brother got his own happy ending.

Angels Before Man by rafael nicolás (Did Not Finish lol):

OK. OK I SUPER HATE THIS BOOK SO MUCH JESUS CHRISTTTTTTTT OK. Ok. So this is a "queer retelling of the fall of Lucifer." Right? And I, being an ex-catholic trans faggot, am totally into reclaiming Lucifer in the name of being a filthy dirty gay heathen? Right??

But this book is sooooooooooooooo

I'm gonna make a bullet point list

It's extremely unimaginative when it comes to what Heaven and angels are like, for one.We have some mentions of chariots and ophanim who are these otherworldly beings, but 99% of the cast are just regular Joe Schmo cis dudes with wings. They live in a very run of the mill pseudo-Roman town with regular buildings and colisseums and bathhouses and stores. It's very uninspired imo. They pass their time talking, lounging, bathing, trading fruits and eating, and competing in the colisseum, and just... not very Angelic??

The first 150 pages is some of the most repetitive writing I have read in years. I kid you not, the book starts with Lucifer's creation and then for the next 150 pages it is just variations of: Lucifer is lost and confused; Lucifer cries; everyone compliments Lucifer's beauty; Lucifer cries over being beautiful; they eat some fruit and walk to see people; they go on flying lessons; repeat. repeat. repeat. EVERYTHING IS DESCRIBED WHEN ITS NOTE VEN NECESSARY FOR ANYTHING BUT PADDINGGGGG

Also Lucifer's shame over being beautiful: WHY is he ashamed? Every single time he gets attention because of his beauty and being God's favorite, every time someone compliments his beauty, we get a paragraph about how ashamed he is of his beauty and his body, but never WHY. There are no details about what is causing him this shame. And if God made him to be beautiful, to embody beauty, why would he have any shame over it? Why is he ashamed of the being he was made to be, the attribute he was hand-crafted to embody? We're not given anything deeper than "Lucifer is so ashamed and he cries and cries and cries." Stop crying over being pretty god damn!!

Basically none of the characters have any voice or personality except for like, Uriel and God. Lucifer's personality is crying and being confused and having a crush on Michael. I'm not even kidding. Maybe some hyperbole but everything in this book is so FLAT and LIFELESS.

Also Lucifer is created not knowing a single thing about existence- he doesn't know what roads are, or what water is, or what air is, or what creation is- but this is also close-third person POV and his internal narration is constantly making reference to things you'd assume he'd be unaware of. Sometimes there will be some metaphor or comparison to an object, that a few pages/chapters later Lucifer will be introduced to for the first time. It just really takes you out of the story, you know?

OK the big thing though

the thing that pissed me off the most?

The entire thing that brings about the fall of Lucifer is being raped by God.

lmao

lmao!!!!

OK see I could see this kind of narrative being potentially compelling and meaningful in the hands of a good, experienced writer but that's not this writer. No. It just is such utter fucking garbage that, to me, personally, was outright offensive as a survive of CSA/incest. This is horrible writing, and horrible handling of the subject matter. It's just, so poorly thought out in so many ways.

Literally the mainstream opinion in Catholicism already is that child sexual abuse survivors are sinned, stained, ruined by the abuse and violence they have suffered. This does not add a single new thing. ugh. ighhhhh!!!

On top of that the writing of the CSA itself and Lucifer's emotional interiority in the aftermath were really fucking shallow for a book that has this as the traumatic pivot of the narrative and Lucifer's character arc into becoming a fallen, corrupted being. It's literally "he's this poor shaking crybaby everyone loves->God violently abuses him->he has violently gone off the deep down and lost his mind in some of the most cliche writing I've seen yet"

And to top it off the writing is full of spelling errors, grammar errors, punctuation errors especially-- I do not say this lightly because I am someone who writes fanfic and holds it near and dear to my heart, but this reads more like someone took a fanfic directly off Wattpad or AO3 and slapped it into a book with no editing. It is so. Bad. good lord!

If this was just porn I would not care nearly as much, like whatever gets your noncon kink rocks off, but this isn't porn, this is trying to be a deep insightful exploration on sexual trauma and incest and I can't deal with how bad it was.

[a-candle-maker]

not tagging the person bcs i don't want to call anyone out but like,,,, saw this one girl and her post formatting made it even look like a chatgpt generated thing... checked her other stuff to see and they all had that one formatting... thought i'd tell her and like. babe. you turning off asks just about confirms it for me, i mean imma just guess that you noticed lots of asks telling you the same and decided we're sooooooooo mean!! and ignored it

[inkdemonapologist]

My BatDR Take That Used To Be Hot But I Left It Out On The Windowsill To Cool So You Should Be Able to Eat It Now Without Burning Your Tongue

its not actually that hot, is what im saying

Anyway my BatDR hot take is that BatDR's story is not fundamentally worse than BatIM with one exception; an exception that, for BatIM, covers a multitude of sins:

BatIM has a theme.

I can't presume the intentions of the creators, but if I had to write an essay on the themes in BatIM, it wouldn't be hard to pick one out: the cost of obsession, or even just, the ruin Joey brought on the studio. In the very first chapter, Henry asks "Joey, what were you doing?" and every single thing in the rest of the game revolves around that central question: what WAS Joey doing? Each audiolog is a snippet of the studio's path to this messed up state; each character you meet is someone ruined by Joey. The major antagonists echo Joey's flaws -- obsession with Bendy as more than a cartoon, obsession with perfection, obsession with fame and greatness and legacy -- but even without that, they're also each a picture of how the lives of people caught in the path of Joey's dream were ruined by it. Bertrum, for example, doesn't match the concept of rubberhose cartoons, but as yet another person screwed over by Joey, he fits the central question of the story, so he feels like he belongs here. Ultimately, in a narrative sense, the Ink Demon isn't the story's monster -- Joey is; the Ink Demon is just the consequence of his reckless ambition.

But what's the theme or central question of BatDR?

You can... try to pick out a theme. There's some promising options, because it feels like the story WANTED a theme, stating its emotional intentions more overtly -- "there's always a choice" to leave the darkness and chose hope; family and the struggle of living in a heavy legacy's shadow; or even just good old mewtwo-brand The Circumstance's Of One's Birth Are Irrelevant, It Is What You Do With The Gift Of Life That Determines Who You Are.

I think, even WITH the clumsy execution of Joey's "arc" and Audrey's lack of real choices, any of those could work about as well as BatIM. But unlike BatIM, the majority of the game doesn't tie in. Joey's tour can be considered relevant -- a picture of the family legacy and the "darkness" that Audrey doesn't yet know she's inheriting -- but like, the audiologs and hints and environment of BatDR are mostly teasing the question of What Is Gent Up To, and the takeover of Gent is detached from Audrey's choices, her family, her legacy, and Gent never really becomes a relevant threat to those things in this game. The Cult of Amok and the Ghost Train have nothing to do with any of these ideas. It might've been neat if Audrey had ever considered, "Did my father really drive all these people insane?", a hint of actually having to wonder about the darkness in her past. Even Wilson only barely brushes against these concepts; he doesn't like Joey and he also is trying to escape his family's heavy legacy, but it doesn't really reflect on his actions and we don't find that last part out until he's about to be dead.

There's also the question Wilson poses of "real" people versus ink creations, and what counts as valid "life." It would be an interesting theme with a lot to build off of in this setting, it ties into Wilson more as Wilson seems to represent the opinion that Inky Things Aren't Really Alive, which could've tied to Audrey (as an ink-person who has yet to accept that part of herself) and maybe given Wilson a reason to think it's fine to sacrifice her, it could've even tied to Gent (who don't even seem to value human life) -- but after Wilson asks the question, it doesn't tie into the direction things go. He smooshes a little Bendy, we see hints of his disregard for Betty, and then everyone continues with their plan to destroy the Ink Demon without any further moral quandaries about inky life.

The thing is, when you compare an element like, say, audiologs, there's a lot of differences you can point to -- but I don't actually think Lacie Benton's audiolog is notably better, taken on its own, than Grace Conway's or Kitty Thompson's, and yet tons of people were intrigued enough to flesh out Lacie. None of them are big plot points or compelling characters on their own; Lacie and Grace both give us a little note on what it's like working in the Studio, and Kitty shares a little bit on how Gent's expansion is affecting people. But when Lacie talks about Bertrum trying to make a creepy animatronic, that ties back into Joey's ill-fated schemes that are the point of the whole story. The question we're asking through the whole game is "what happened here?" so the fandom is interested in who Lacie is and what her life was like and extrapolates a whole person out of a couple sentences. But that's not the question in BatDR -- what has Wilson done to the Cycle and the Demon? Why? Who is Audrey really, and why is she here? Telling us new things about the Studio's fate seems strangely irrelevant to those questions, just an attempt to create a Mystery To Speculate On like the previous game did... but what question you're asking and how it fits into your story's main theme, like, matters. I absolutely believe that one clock animator guy would've been in EVERYONE'S crew if he'd been introduced in BatIM, but the context makes a difference; fleshing him out feels less relevant here.

The explanations of how and why Wilson did everything he did are baffling and handwavey, but in and of itself that's not a worse problem than anything else in the franchise -- I STILL don't understand why the Ink Machine needs pipes in the walls or even how it works, there's no good reason for Sammy to believe the Ink Demon will "set him free," most of Alice's motives don't make sense, etc etc etc. But the thing is that in BatDR, the wibbly bit is the closest thing to a central question we have! Wilson, what were you doing? The theme doesn't really explore or connect to that question, so the explanations that are finally tossed our way feel lacking in a way that BatIM's handwaved elements don't. There's a lot about Joey's motivation in BatIM that we can't know, but the heart of it resonates -- Joey wanted something, he was willing to exploit people to get it, and he became obsessed and prioritised that dream at any cost. We'll weather a thousand logistical inconsistencies if it's got heart.

But all of that said.... to be honest, I don't think Lacie overtly fits that theme anyway. Even, like, Sammy is iffy -- we don't really know what happened to him, only that he didn't used to be made of ink and worship Bendy, and now he does. We assume Joey's nonsense had something to do with what happened to him (though the books later assert his influence was indirect at best), because when there's a pattern, we can fill in the blank. So many fan creators found a place for Lacie, Grant, and Shawn in the cycle as butcher clones or lost ones, so many people imagined that Wally must be the Boris we meet, because that would've fit the pattern, the idea that the point of what we're seeing is the downfall of the studio. It's not actually that BatIM did a great job tying everything together -- it's that BatIM gave us a compelling idea and that was all it took to make everything else SEEM like it could find a place to fit. This is what I mean when I say BatIM's theme covers a multitude of sins. There's a LOT of characters in BatIM that don't make sense. There's a lot of inconsistencies and things that just sort of happen without any real reason. Characters don't really have "arcs" so much as different states they happen to be in at different times. But because there's a central question and the story doesn't wander away from it, our pattern-loving human brains will slot in all the pieces and do all the work to make the story feel at least somewhat coherent.

The things that happened in BatDR aren't a whole lot less coherent than BatIM imo, they just don't tie into a bigger theme or any of the questions the story's asking, making "how do they fit into all this" feel irrelevant, making it easier to forget entire sections and harder to get invested in audiolog characters. I think a lot of the other criticisms people have for BatDR's story are very valid, but I also suspect that if BatDR had a more successful theme/central question, then a lot of its flaws would be easier to overlook -- just like BatIM.

[marihem]

stupid question but I love your dynamic between frisk and sans, this is exactly how I picture them in my head and was wondering if you or anyone has written fanfic with them in this dynamic? I would read the short out of it

Aaaaa I'm really glad to hear that you're enjoying these as much as I am úvù

And no please it is not a stupid question at all! In fact, it is an interesting one. Assuming you're talking about my QPR Frans...yes, there is a written one shot little fanfic of them. And I wrote it long long ago 👁👁

No it is not published anywhere nor isn't shared with anyone aside from my close friends. But I'm gonna change that today. Here's the google doc for it! So this is a little something that takes place some time before this video happens and 4 years before Frisk and Sans become super duper extremely close friends which I have been drawing for the past months. Writing isn't my strongest but I tried my best and you know what? It's pretty aiiiiiiighttttt

Yeaa give it a shot when you got the time. It ain't much but it's honest work. And thank you for being interested in this too XD

[micamicster]

Super Rich Kids

Close my eyes and feel the crash...

I wrote this one on post-its on a trans-continental flight after my phone (where i was re-reading the raven cycle) died. 0/10 plane experience would not recommend but I did manage to entertain myself! And now hopefully you as well!

When Ronan pulled into Monmouth Manufacturing he knew Gansey wouldn’t be there. Adam Parrish was, though, sitting on the steps in the golden afternoon light, bike dumped to the side in dying grass. He didn’t so much as flicker an eyelid when Ronan bootlegged the BMW into an approximation of parking on the far side of the lot, which was fine because that’s how he would have parked the car anyway, whether or not Adam was here.

Ronan was pretty sure that Gansey had arranged a shift system with the other boys, to prevent Ronan from being unaccompanied on the rare occasions of his own absence. The idea of a babysitter should have rankled Ronan, but Adam did not seem particularly invested in his role. Small favors.

As he got out of the car he gave Adam his customary once-over, as brief as it was habitual. You could notice a lot in a single glance, if you were Ronan, glancing at Adam.

Adam was wearing long sleeves (his father? Or just because it was October?) and his faded camo pants, the ones Ronan said made him look like a jingoistic meathead. They had recently acquired a tear in one knee. Not in the stylish, deliberate manner in which Ronan’s own jeans were shredded, but awkwardly, in an L-shape, where they had caught on some jagged edge and given way before even careful Adam had noticed and unhooked himself. The tear gaped open at times, like it was doing now, revealing Adam’s knobby left knee and, worse, a triangle of his brown thigh.

Ronan looked away.

Ronan never allowed himself, even in dreams, to trespass beyond the carefully demarcated boundaries of Adam’s clothes. And Adam was usually helpful in the maintenance of this boundary. Unlike Gansey, who could be found working on his model Henrietta in boxers at all hours of the night, or wandering to and from the shower in a towel, absent-mindedly forgetting his clothes in bathroom or bedroom. Unlike the boys Ronan played tennis with, who stripped down casually in the locker room after practice. Unlike even Ronan himself, who’d never met a shirt he couldn’t rip the sleeves off; Adam was always fully covered.

This summer, foolishly, Ronan had imagined that this might change. Now that the hideous secrets Adam protected with his long sleeves were no longer his alone. But by now he knew what kept those sleeves in place, something that Adam had already understood: that knowing and seeing are two very different things.

For example: this. Ronan knew that Adam, like most people who walked around on earth under their own power, possessed thighs. Two of them, attached in the normal way to other body parts, such as knees and hips. To know this was one thing.

Now that he’d seen it, he couldn’t stop seeing it. The way his knee bent, and the muscle above shifted as Adam made room on the steps for him. Ronan was looking away, out at the familiar, grounding, skid marks on the concrete of Monmouth’s lot, but he could picture in their place with deadly accuracy the hinge of Adam’s knee, the tanned skin of his thigh, scattered with golden-brown hair. He could dream about pressing his face against it.

He picked up a rock and hurled it. It glanced off the side of the soulless suburban and fell anticlimactically into the grass dying by the rear tire. It didn’t help.

Adam shifted next to him, subtly.

“What?” said Ronan. “Impressed?”

“Surprised, more like. I thought you were supposed to be the tennis star.”

“You think you can do better?” Ronan pried another hunk of gravel or concrete out of the dirt and tossed it in his left hand, tauntingly.

“I know I can.”

“But?”

“But,” said Adam, with some hint of exasperation coloring his voice, “I’m not going to sit here chunking rocks at Gansey’s car to prove it. My ego’s not that fragile.” His accent slipped out on chunkin’, not as if Ronan had pissed him off enough to forget to hide it, but as if it was a word he’d never used any other way.

Ronan threw his rock again. This was, if anything, a worse throw than before, and it skittered harmlessly across the suburban’s roof.

Adam made a small but contemptuous noise.

“Don’t give me that shit, man. You know he hates this fucking car.”

“That was for your shitty aim.”

“Come on then.” Ronan hefted another piece of gravel. “Ten points if you knock out his taillight.”

“It costs a hundred and five dollars to replace a taillight on that make and model. Plus tax.”

Ronan’s brief cheer was collapsing again. “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to bust Dick’s lights.”

Adam blinked slowly, his dusty eyelashes obscuring the contempt in his eyes for a brief moment. “I’ll leave.” (He wouldn’t).

Ronan dropped the rock. Next to him Adam sighed. Abruptly, he put out his hand. “Telephone pole. Six feet from the top.”

Ronan swept back up the rock and dropped it into his hand. Their fingers did not touch. His heart thudded.

Adam tossed the rock once, testing its weight while his gaze, cool and assessing, remained on the telephone pole. It was a splintered, tilting thing, shamed by his attentions. In one smooth, economical movement, he rose to his feet and let the rock fly. His leg went forward, knee jutting out of his clothes, his back curved, and his arm swept around in an arc, fingers scraping at the blue October sky. Ronan didn’t need to turn his head to know if the rock hit—he could see it in the brief hard satisfaction on Adam’s face.

Adam turned back to him, one eyebrow cocked.

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to earn that hundred,”

Adam shrugged. The gesture was disinterested, but there was a quirk to his mouth that contradicted it. “I know nothing blew up, but…”

Ronan already had another rock in his hand. “West corner lightbulb. It breaks or it doesn’t count.” Adam rolled his eyes, but turned agreeably to watch Ronan miss.

“Would you like to get your tennis racket?”

“Eat me,” said Ronan. (Maybe).

They traded shots back and forth for a while, calling increasingly specific and complex plays.

“Bullshit. Bullshit.”

“Get the government to pay for some glasses, Parrish, and then come back and try to tell me that wasn’t a fucking bullseye—”

“It wasn’t even close! You—”

“You calling me a liar?” Ronan loomed, and Adam, as usual, was unimpressed.

“Just because you don’t lie doesn’t make you right all the time! Like when you said that quote on Tuesday was Seneca. It doesn’t stop being Martial just because you’ve got a child’s sense of morality—”

“See, right there.” Ronan pointed triumphantly at an invisible scuff mark on the doorsill, marking where his handful of gravel had made impact.

Adam gave it a skeptical glance. His face was faintly flushed from exertion in the cold air, but his eyes were as cool and considering as ever. “What we need,” he said, “is a knife.”

Ronan was not allowed knives.

~

“Are you trying to stab each other in the feet? Why are your shoes off! It’s October!”

“Equal playing field.” Ronan wiggled his toes against the cold asphalt. “Parrish’s shitty knife is no match for my boots.” Over Gansey’s head, Ronan tried to catch Adam’s eye, to share a ‘can you believe him’ sort of look. Adam’s embarrassment over being caught acting irresponsibly meant Ronan could expect the look to be rebuffed, but he couldn’t help himself from trying it anyway.

Adam was bent over, eyes hidden. He carefully dusted off his socked feet one at a time before sliding them back into his shoes, as though the socks or sneakers could look any worse. A little parking lot crud might improve their appearance, actually.

Next to him, Gansey was still fussing. Without the pressure release valve of eye contact with someone who knew Gansey was overreacting, Ronan snapped, “Come off it, man, I’m not going to slit my throat while Parrish watches. He can’t afford that caliber of snuff film.”

Gansey’s concern transformed into revulsion, but underneath it he looked hurt, which was far far worse.

Adam straightened up. “We were just using it to mark where we hit. Honestly, we could have done it tossing a sharpie, but neither of us had one.” He sounded conciliatory, which pissed Ronan off. But Gansey was letting it go, returning the knife to Adam with an apologetic smile. Sorry for the fuss. Sorry for Ronan. Ronan’s bare feet were cold against the asphalt.

“Well? Are you going to throw or not, Parrish?” he said belligerently.

Adam rolled his eyes, but obligingly stooped for gravel and let one fly at Ronan’s open bedroom window, a shot he made easily.

Gansey whistled. “You’ve got quite the arm on you. How come you’re not on the Algionby baseball team?”

Adam shifted his feet, awkwardly.

“Please,” scoffed Ronan, “he’s not a team player.”

Gansey did not let it go. “Bet you’d have a better fastball than both our pitchers.”

There was a pause, during which Adam’s face clearly showed all of the thoughts he was trying to corral into a polite response to Gansey’s unconsidered enthusiasm. Ronan got there first. “Yeah, Parrish, why not hitch your wagon to the star of organized sports, like every other rags to riches wannabe?”

“Ronan!” said Gansey, Ronan’s offensiveness registering where his own had not.

“Hitch my wagon to a star?” Adam was unruffled. “I thought quoting Transcendentalists could get you excommunicated.”

“Who said I know it’s Emerson. It’s a sourceless idiom to those of us who aren’t sad little nerds.”

Adam smirked. The smirk said, I never said Emerson. His words said, “Gansey’s damning me with faint praise. No one’s going pro out of an Algionby sport team. Even tennis.”

“Ouch,” said Ronan, cheerfully. “Hit me where it really hurts. My school pride.”

~

Now that Gansey had arrived, his plans for the day took precedence over noble pastimes such as flipping pocketknives at each other’s feet. His plans involved comparing readings from various instruments and then placing said various instruments in various new locations, all of which were equally arbitrary (to Ronan’s eyes) and inaccessible. Gansey’s plans involved him waiting by the car to monitor the readings while people hiked with antennae to the outermost reaches of the signal. People, in this instance, being Ronan and Adam, Noah having mysteriously and silently fucked off, as he so often did when a job required carrying anything.

Ronan put his head down and trudged. It was brambly here, and slightly damp, and he was beginning to work up the kind of counter-intuitive sweat that appears from working in the cold, the kind that makes you colder later.

As the person leading the hike, custom would dictate that he should catch and hold the long clinging arms of the brambles for the following hiker. This presented a dilemma. Ronan compromised, and set about stomping the multiflora into the ground as he walked. Scarlet hips burst under his feet, invasive and beautiful, spreading their millions of seeds across the damp earth. Noxious weeds.

“It’s too unreliable,” said Adam, into the silence. “Sports. It all depends on… your physical condition.”

“And your condition is shit.”

There was Adam’s ironic smile. “Yes. So.” He shrugged. There was the part they weren’t saying, which was that his physical condition could always get worse. Unexpectedly.

“My dad hates baseball.” Ronan heard himself make the slip—hates and not hated—and a spark of fury burned through him, brief and inconsequential.

“My dad loves it.”

They marched on in silence.

Adam swore as a bramble Ronan had beaten down sprang up again, catching him right across the tear, where his skin was exposed. He bent to unhook it from the camo with deft, deliberate hands. “What?” he said, like he could feel Ronan’s eyes.

Ronan looked away. “Why not the military?” He kicked purposelessly at the bramble and heard Adam sigh. “And don’t tell me you never thought about it. Test scores like yours out in hicksville high school, you must have had recruiters hopping all over you like fleas.”

“Would you believe I had a moral objection?” Adam’s smile was self-deprecating. Ronan studied it.

“No.”

Adam shrugged. It, too, was self-deprecating.

“I think you had a superiority objection. You think you’re too smart for that shit.”

Adam blinked at him. “Do you think I’m wrong?”

Ronan snorted. “Hell no. You can do better than getting blown up in a desert for the United States government.”

The smile, when it came, was small and stunning. “Damned by faint praise again.”

[youling-the-ghost]

More handwritten fanfiction!!

I've decided to just write this entire bubbamiah fic in my notebook and honestly it's so much fun to write on paper. I've said this before but I genuinely recommend you try this out if you're a writer, even if it's just for a bit. It makes you think about your word choices more because it's so much harder to edit a mistake when it's on paper.

[primeministerofantarctica]

do you think kazuki and rei ever told miri they used to be hitmen or is she just going to have a VERY interesting family research project

[agentark]

whatever you do, don't imagine a young J Corvin waiting every day at the end of their drive, hoping today is the day the mail carrier finally brings a letter from their very best friend

[raiiny-bay]

my favorite edits - 2023 edition 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9

[jamiethebeeart]

Sketches

[memento-morri-writes]

I've been thinking a lot about how Rook's reunion with his former mentor, Zara, is going to go, and since I can't predict what the DM is going to have her do or say, I can only dwell on what I know is going to happen. Which happens to include taking off the illusion ring that's been hiding his injuries from her. So have a snippet of the description I have planned for that moment:

tw for description of (mostly healed) injuries

He hesitates, twisting a ring on his finger. Looking at it more closely, she can tell it’s very finely crafted, and must have been very expensive. A large emerald is set into the band. Rook sighs, and pulls the ring off his finger in one quick motion.  Immediately she’s struck by the difference in his appearance as the illusion melts away. He looks awful. His warm, healthy skin fades to a dull and sickly grey. There’s huge bags under his deeply sunken eyes, and his cheeks are hollowed, as though they have been carved out by an overeager sculptor. He looks like he’s recently risen from the grave.  While he was thin before, now she can see his ribs under the skin, and his collarbones are exaggeratedly pronounce. Thin white lines left by dozens upon dozens of recently healed cuts are scattered across his body. On top of that, faded bruises cover most of his visible skin, a mottled mosaic of purple and yellow. They’re clearly days, maybe weeks old, and she can only begin to imagine what they must have looked like when fresh. Bandages are barely visible under his shirt, wrapping around his back, hinting at even more injuries.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

sharing one of my all-time fave poems totally not because I spent the last hour crying uncontrollably over graduating <3 LMAO

LISTEN I LOVE YOU JOY IS COMING!!!

Text version here.

[crescentmoonrider]

Help(less)

Summary :

Senjurou works at Douma's office, and learns to help. Senjurou works at Douma's office, and learns that he can't do anything at all. Senjurou works, and learns that closure is something only some ghosts can give. (He wants to become more like Kyoujurou, more like Douma, more like Michikatsu. Wants to be someone the dead and the living can rely on.)

>read on AO3

>AU tag

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

I don't have a lot of energy these days [because of The Horrors] so I'm looking at my day and my priorities and trying to plan how I'm going to spend what energy I have, because I do need to be able to rest and relax but there are also things that need doing and that is a careful balance for me.

I managed to [mostly] clean the kitchen last night so I've kicked it out of the priority list until next weekend. Unfortunately the living room, bathroom, bedroom, and my office all need cleaning too. I think of the priorities, my office and the bedroom are the most important to me, so I'll probably push the living room and bathroom until at least Friday.

There's also the laundry. I don't have any clean clothes and as we're moving into winter I need to be more rigid about getting that done because days where the clothes can be dried on the line will be more limited. So I definitely need to wash an outfit or two and hang them up in the next hour.

That's already a really busy day, so I'll probably cut it there. But it's definitely going to still leave me a lot of work this week. Half my cleaning, at least one more round of laundry, settling dog food for the next couple of weeks, planting the fall/winter greens, doing some set up work on my computer, work on some writing projects, cleaning out the fridge, and patching some worn clothes. My work week isn't insane atm, but it is definitely limiting. Right now I have 6+4+0+4+2+5+5= 25 non work/non-survival needs (sleep, food, shower, etc) hours available each week. I need to figure out a regukar distribution of these that means everything is getting done and I still have an hour a day to myself as often as possible. I think it's probably not realistic to give myself more than an hour a day for free time/fun, which is a bit unfortunate because I've found in the past that my floor tends to be getting 2-3hrs of free time most days because of how I deal with transition and decision-making.

25-7 [1hr per day] is 18 hrs, so I just need to decide where and how to distribute those in order to keep pace with things.

Lets say the garden needs 3hrs per week, the laundry needs 4 hours (specifically 2 sets of 2 morning/early afternoon hours), the cleaning needs an hour a day to get through a maintenance clean of the house, and 3 hours once a week to work down any deep cleaning that's built up. Which is....already three more hours than I actually have each week. So I guess I'll make a plan to work in the garden for 20-40min of 4 of my free hours each week.

It really doesn't leave me any wiggle room. Only about 4 hours a week that isn't explicitly allotted to something that needs doing, which means there will probably me a lot of weeks where I only get an hour or so at best across the whole thing for free time. I guess I've had a hard time accepting that at this point, having actual time for myself or a time-intensive project is only available if I've taken a day off work. I love my job, but it's ... not comfortable to realize that it's the only love in my life I actually have time for anymore.

I think that's probably why I end up here so much. It's this mindless little way of zoning out into my own head, dissociating away from the exhaustion, for a few minutes at a time. I keep thinking I want to use this space differently, make it more if the things I enjoy. But I think what I really want is just to actually have the time and energy to do things I love that take work. I keep crying a few times every day and I couldn't figure out why, but like

I dunno

Why **wouldn't** I cry a little every day? It's the closest I'm getting to actual emotional release or relaxation in my life. We'd probably all cry. Heck. A lot of us probably DO, capitalism being what it is.

I guess I'm starting to wonder why I'm doing what I'm doing. What is there left for me to sacrifice to this life? What is actually serving me about not just letting myself go up like a fireball and take my surroundings with me? What in the ever loving fuck am I fighting this hard for?

All I ever want, all I want now, is to be able to live. To really, actually live. How does wanting to live bring you this close to killing yourself, whether on accident or on purpose? What am I actually doing that is LIVING and what am I doing that is FACILITATION of living? It can't all be facilitation, or I'm not actually facilitating fuck all.

I'm 30 goddamn years old and I need to figure out what it looks like to actually love my life. I fundamentally refuse to zombify myself like this for everyone else around me forever.

[styrofauxm]

Opinions on Alastor x lucifer? With (aro?) ace filter

I understand the ship, but I personally prefer their animosity.

Lucifer doesn’t know or care who Alastor is. He’s a powerful overlord, but Lucifer is the king of the realm, and more powerful than anyone else in it. Lucifer doesn’t take any notice of Alastor, and Alastor’s ego absolutely cannot handle it.

With the end of S1 especially, Lucifer decimated Adam and could have finished him off if not for Charlie. Meanwhile Alastor had to run away and admit he isn't as powerful as he likes to believe he is. I think that sets up an interesting hostile dynamic between them since they will be around each other more, vying for control of Charlie.

(Plus Alastor needs to be humbled because he’s an asshole and if they liked each other that wouldn't happen often enough lmao)

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2023: DAEMON VOICES: ON STORIES AND STORYTELLING by Philip Pullman feat. the current knitting project!

Since I have both set aside my current revision project and successfully completed a beta read for a friend, I'm trying to catch up on knitting and reading! Said friend actually got me this book for last Christmas, and I've been waiting until I was between (writing) projects to start it.