#this one is very long

[lucky-clover-gazette]

prince's gambit highlights & annotations

chapters 5 & 6

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

Laurent glanced at their surroundings, and said, ‘It’s the wrong terrain for an ambush.’ ‘The town isn’t,’ said Damen. For good measure, he took hold of Laurent’s horse’s bridle. ‘Consider alternatives. Can you entrust the task to someone else?’ ‘No,’ said Laurent. He said it as a calm statement of fact. Damen forced down his frustration, reminded himself that Laurent was in possession of an able mind, and that therefore his, ‘No,’ had a reason behind it other than pure stubbornness. Probably.

i love this entire passage! damen taking control of laurent's horse is great

‘This doesn’t suit me,’ he said, meaning that it didn’t suit him to wear them. ‘No. It doesn’t. You look like one of us,’ said Laurent.

well this definitely helps laurent with his evolving self-delusion and cognitive dissonance. also i like how damen's pov specifies that he is not calling himself unfit for the clothing physically, bc he's hot enough to wear anything, it's more of a figurative unfitness

‘The Prince has business away from the camp,’ said Damen. ‘He plans to return mid-morning. He wants you to captain the men as usual while he’s gone.’ ‘Whatever he needs. How many men is he taking with him?’ ‘One,’ said Damen. ‘Good luck,’ was all Jord said.

jord, immediately assuming that the one man is damen:

Vistas of endless ridiculousness opened up before him.

Laurent was considering the women. He was far from wide-eyed, but there was a certain quality to his gaze. For Laurent, Damen realised, this experience was wholly new and highly illicit. Compounding Damen’s sense of the ridiculous was the sudden acute awareness that he was accompanying the chaste Crown Prince of Vere to his first brothel. From elsewhere in the house, you could hear the sound of fucking.

damen you’ve seen the court of vere, why the fuck do you think laurent would be flustered by this. is it the heterosexuality?

You’re sitting so far away,’ said the blonde. ‘Then get up,’ said Laurent. She got up. The brunette rose too, and made for Laurent. The blonde came to sit beside Damen.

not the blonde going to damen and the brunette going to laurent 😭

‘Unlace his jacket,’ said Laurent. The blonde looked from Damen to Laurent. Damen looked at him too. Laurent had dispensed with his own woman wordlessly, perhaps with a single dismissive flick of his fingers. Elegant and relaxed, he was regarding them without urgency. It was familiar. Damen felt the moment when his pulse kicked in, remembering the love seat in the garden bower, and Laurent’s cool voice giving explicit instructions: suck it, and, tongue the slit. Damen caught the blonde’s wrist. There was not going to be a repeat performance.

“do it yourself coward”

it is interesting, to get some insight re: how damen feels about the garden scene. he seems to regard it as less of a personal violation, and more of an insult or annoyance. it might even be something he’s intentionally avoiding BECAUSE he knows how much laurent’s instruction turns him on.

the use of “performance” is interesting here, too. damen’s reactions in the garden had been real, and he knows they would be real here again. but he seems to assume that to laurent, it’s all just an act. which at this point, i think it pretty much is, although… i’m not quite sure what this specific gesture would have gotten laurent, if damen had allowed it. is it possible that laurent genuinely wanted to do damen a favor by getting him laid? or was he just “yes, and”-ing the situation on damen’s behalf, for fun?

‘The plaster’s old,’ said Damen. ‘Here.’ He took hold of the grille, and gave it a tug. Bits of plaster rained down from the edges of the window, but it wasn’t enough to detach the grille from the frame. He changed his grip, braced his stance and put his shoulder into it. On the third attempt, the whole grille came away from the window. It was surprisingly heavy. He placed it carefully on the floor. The thick carpet muffled any sound, as it had done when he had moved the chest. ‘After you,’ he said to Laurent, who was staring at him. Laurent almost looked as though he was going to speak, but then he just nodded, pulled himself through the window and dropped soundlessly into the alley behind the brothel.

another rare early instance of obvious laurent attraction. i think he is smitten by damen’s irreverent blunt efficiency, as well as the display of raw strength. seeing this, laurent might be thinking to himself, “he could have snapped me in half this whole time, but he hasn’t.” kind of foreshadowing of the “i could have done this...” line in book 3.

anyway, laurent’s attraction here seems to consist of 1) respect for damen’s competence, 2) intrigue regarding his usual restraint, and 3) physical attraction to big hot strong guy. #3 is the one i personally have the most trouble analyzing, and i’d bet laurent would be equally confused by that aspect of his own reaction. but he’s definitely feeling Something here, whether or not he’s able to understand or verbalize it. he can’t even manage to make the expected snarky comment!

‘Here. Take this,’ said Laurent when they were half the town away, tossing Damen his coin purse. ‘It’s better if we’re not recognised. And you should do up the collar on your jacket.’

when exactly do you think laurent came up with the role reversal plan? was it before or after damen ripped a metal grate off a wall with his bare hands?

whatever the case, he’s preparing for it now. damen will just have to play along.

Anyone seeing a young blond man of noble birth is going to guess it’s you.’ ‘I brought a disguise,’ said Laurent. ‘A disguise,’ said Damen.

did he only make this specific disguise plan after damen agreed to come with him? if not, was he just going to pretend to be an unaccompanied pet????

After no more than a brief, dismissive glance at Laurent, the innkeeper gave Damen his full attention, greeting him respectfully. ‘Welcome, my lord. Will you and your pet require lodgings for the evening?’

(the noise i made when i read this for the first time…)

every single uncomfortable, indulgent detail about veretian pets in book 1 justifies itself in this moment.

some disorganized thoughts:

from the moment they left, laurent knew this is where they were heading. and he intentionally did not inform damen of the role he would have to play. there might have been a slight strategic advantage to keep damen in the dark, but i also think laurent just figured it would be funny to make it a surprise. a little treat, to get himself through the horrors.

if laurent was asked to examine WHY this specific arrangement is a fun treat, he’d probably jump out of a window to escape the question. (damen, too, but for different reasons.)

like, there… really is no strategic reason for laurent to be a pet here. he could have disguised himself and damen in plenty of other ways, but laurent chose this specific bit for them both. interesting.

i'd like to think that laurent would eventually unpack this choice. i’m sure there’s plenty of fic exploring the idea of him roleplaying as a pet, relinquishing his authority, and reclaiming his sexual identity in a controlled environment. maybe he and damen can do it on purpose, without the high-stakes mission to justify the act.

craft note: this subversion is incredible, in terms of characterization, plot, romance, and sexual tension. the perfect payoff to nicaise’s earring, the focus on pets in book 1, and laurent’s affinity for “performance.”

as i begin close-reading chapter 6 of prince’s gambit, i remind myself that this is meant to be rational and eloquent literary analysis.

'I want your best room,’ said Laurent, ‘with a big bed and a private bath, and if you send up the house boy, you’ll find out the hard way that I don’t like sharing.’ He delivered the innkeeper a long, cool look. ‘He’s expensive,’ said Damen to the innkeeper, by way of apology.

And then watched as the innkeeper sized up the cost of Laurent’s clothes, and his sapphire earring—a royal gift to a favourite—and the likely cost of Laurent himself, the face, the body. Damen realised that he was about to be charged three times the going rate for everything. He decided with good humour that he didn’t mind being generous with Laurent’s coin.

i’m obsessed with how quickly damen commits to the bit with good humor. i wonder if it surprises laurent, even delights him to have such a willing scene partner

Why don’t you find us a table. Pet.’ Enjoying the moment. And the sobriquet.

“A sobriquet is a descriptive nickname, sometimes assumed, but often given by another. A sobriquet is distinct from a pseudonym in that it is typically a familiar name used in place of a real name without the need for explanation; it may become more familiar than the original name.” (Wiktionary)

damen is enjoying the sobriquiet. he is enjoying calling laurent “pet.”

craft note: i can’t do this. i don’t know. something something, role reversals and subversion. there.

Being the best table, it was occupied. Laurent emptied it with what appeared to be a glance, or a word, or the simple fact of his approach.

okay so what do we think this was. like, he’s not using his prince privileges here. he’s being perceived as essentially a very expensive prostitute. it happens quickly, it couldn’t have been a long con. what did laurent say or do, subtly enough that damen couldn’t make it out, to empty an entire table of people???

The earring was not a discreet disguise. Every man in the common room of the inn was taking the time to have a good look at Laurent. Pet. Laurent’s cool-eyed arrogance proclaimed that no one could touch him. The earring said that one man could. It transformed him from unattainable to exclusive, an elite pleasure no one here could afford.

has anyone ever drawn laurent in the “i am a luxury few can afford” sweater

But that was an illusion. Damen sat down across the table from Laurent on one of the long benches. ‘What now?’ said Damen. ‘Now we wait,’ said Laurent.

previous line “… no one could afford.” there’s a sort of double meaning here, i think, when damen says this is an illusion. what he means, consciously, is that laurent’s entire act is an illusion. but what i can imply, from the following action and dialogue, is that damen IS that one person who can touch laurent—the real laurent, behind the disguise. damen sits with him unceremoniously and speaks to him like an ally, not a pet.

their dynamic drives me fucking insaneeeeeee

Then Laurent rose and made his way around the table, sitting himself beside Damen, close as a lover. ‘What are you doing?’ ‘Verisimilitude,’ said Laurent. The earring winked at him.

nothing sexier than vocab

‘I’m glad I brought you along. I wasn’t expecting to have to tear things out of walls. Do you visit brothels often?’

i ask again: was laurent planning to do the pet thing without damen???

‘Not brothels. Camp followers?’ said Laurent. And then: ‘Slaves.’ And then, after the satisfaction of a pause: ‘Akielos, the garden of delights. So you enjoy slavery in others. Just not in yourself.’

get his ass laurent

Damen shifted on the long bench, and regarded him. ‘Don’t strain yourself,’ said Laurent. ‘You talk more,’ said Damen, ‘when you’re uncomfortable.’

i love this moment so much. damen is not giving laurent the satisfaction of his attempted blindsiding. if he's going to join laurent in this, they are going to commit to the bit as equals. laurent teases damen for his discomfort and damen teases him right back.

between the brothel and this scene, damen is correcting the dynamic he and laurent shared in the court and gardens of arles. it’s not that he refuses to play the game—but now, he insists upon playing with equal advantage.

(also: “you talk more when you’re uncomfortable” is a very true observation, and they both know it! after a few chapters of laurent being a boss ass bitch, it’s good to see him slightly humbled. especially when it’s damen doing the humbling.)

‘We’ll try to entertain ourselves. Who’s that?’ said Laurent.

kid in a candy shop behavior

Laurent was watching Volo with the same expression with which he had regarded the women in the brothel.

it’s like he’s playing the sims. like he took his self-made “laurent ofvere” sim to the club in a cunty outfit and now he’s trying to figure out what kinds of entertaining Situations he can provoke.

‘All right. Give me some coin. I want to play that man at cards.’ Laurent rose, leaning his weight against the table. Damen reached for the purse, then paused. ‘Aren’t you supposed to earn gifts with service?’ Laurent said, ‘Is there something you want?’ His voice was sinuous with promise; his gaze was steady as a cat’s. Damen, who preferred not to be eviscerated, tossed Laurent the purse. Laurent caught it in one hand, and took for himself a handful of copper and silver. He tossed the purse back to Damen as he made his way across the inn floor, seating himself opposite Volo.

I LOVE THEMMMM

Charls trusted the Prince to stand firm in negotiations with the bastard Akielon King more than he trusted the Regent uncle.

charls knows what he’s talking about

The Crown Prince was camped at Nesson this very minute, on his way to the border to stand up to Akielos. He was a young man serious about his responsibilities, Charls said. Damen had to make an effort not to look over at Laurent, gambling, when he said it.

incredible writing. 10/10

Laurent took the drink and picked his way back across the room, where he put it, untouched, in front of Damen. ‘Spoils of someone else’s victory.’

thoughtful <3 like when a cat brings its owner something it’s killed <3

Damen said, ‘If you wanted a drink and an old hat that badly, you could have just bought them from him. Cheaper and quicker.’ ‘It’s the game I like,’ said Laurent.

character-defining quote! laurent takes pleasure and pride in the chaos of improvisation. if everything was made simple for him, he wouldn’t be having any fun.

laurent has spent the last seven years of his life starved for enrichment in his enclosure. but he’s not in arles anymore—still a captive prince figuratively, but he’s finally having some fun >:)

He reached over and appropriated another coin out of the purse Damen carried, then palmed it. ‘Look, I’ve learned a new trick.’ When he opened his hand, it was empty, as if by magic. A second later, the coin dropped out of his sleeve onto the floor. Laurent frowned at it. ‘Well, I don’t have it quite yet.’ ‘If the trick is making coins disappear, I think you do have it, actually.’

they’d have this interaction in literally any au. modern, role reversal, whatever. just a cringefail theater nerd and his affectionately teasing prep-jock boyfriend.

(yes, damen is a prep. i’m sorry. look inside your heart and you’ll know it to be true.)

‘What’s the food like?’ said Laurent, his eyes on the table. Damen tore off a piece of bread, and held it like a treat to a house cat. ‘Try it.’ Laurent looked at the bread, and then he looked at the men by the fire, and then he looked at Damen, a long, cool look that would have been difficult to hold if Damen had not had, by now, a great deal of practice. And then he said, ‘All right.’ It took a moment for those words to penetrate. By the time they did, Laurent had settled next to him on the long bench. Laurent straddled it, facing Damen. Laurent was really going to do it. Pets in Vere made a teasing production out of this, flirting and making love to their masters’ hands. Laurent, when Damen brought the mouthful of bread to his lips, did none of those things. He maintained an essential fastidiousness. There was almost nothing of pet and master about it at all, except that Damen felt, just for an instant, the warmth of Laurent’s breath against his fingertips. Verisimilitude, thought Damen.

Laurent ate the bread. It was like feeding a predator, the same feeling. Laurent was so close that it would be easy to wrap a hand around the back of his neck and draw him closer. He remembered the feel of Laurent’s hair, his skin, and fought the urge to press against Laurent’s lips with the pads of his fingers. It was the earring. Laurent was always so austere. The earring reframed him. It gave the appearance of a sensual side, sophisticated and subtle. But that side didn’t exist. The glint of sapphires was dangerous. As Nicaise had been dangerous. Nothing in Vere was as it seemed. Another piece of bread. Laurent’s lips brushed against his fingertips. It was brief and soft. This wasn’t what he’d intended when he picked up the bread. He had some sense that his plans had been overturned, that Laurent knew exactly what he was doing. The touch resembled the first brush of lips in the kind of sensual kiss that begins as a series of smaller kisses, and then, slowly, deepens. Damen felt his breathing change.

He reminded himself forcefully of who this was. Laurent, his captor. He made himself recall the fall of each lash on his back, but thanks to some misfiring of the brain, found himself instead in the memory of Laurent’s wet skin in the baths, the way his limbs fitted together like a hilt fitted to the blade of a balanced sword. Laurent finished the morsel, then rested a hand on Damen’s thigh, and slowly slid it upward. ‘Control yourself,’ said Laurent. And shifted in, until, facing one another on the straddled bench, they were almost chest to chest. Laurent’s hair tickled against Damen’s cheek as he brought his lips to Damen’s ear. ‘You and I are almost the last ones here,’ Laurent murmured. ‘And so?’ The next murmur slid softly into Damen’s ear, so that he felt the shape of each word, made of lips and breath. ‘And so, take me upstairs,’ said Laurent. ‘Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough?’

craft… note…

i said i was going to analyze scenes like this in order to understand how they work and improve my own writing. like laurent, i take pride in committing to the bit.

overall, the eroticism here is in the improv. i’m sorry, but it’s true. "yes, and” is basically dirty talk in lamen. the long pauses, the mutual unspoken challenge, the suggestive performance… it all builds tension towards something exciting and unknown. damen and laurent’s connection, in this scene and the majority of the book, is like a string that they’re both pulling taut—and neither of them has any idea what will happen when it finally snaps.

i think it’s helpful to compare this moment with the garden scene from book 1. that erotic interaction was instructive and detached—laurent was completely in control, and ancel was there, doing something, probably. but here, damen and laurent are both actively and exclusively partaking, and encouraging each other to take it just a little bit further. they are close in a way they’ve never been before, figuratively and literally. they are exploring the space of the unfamiliar scene with good humor, mutual investment, and (from damen at least) unsubtle attraction.

if they weren’t so attracted to each other, it could truly just be an act. a performance. something they can put on to accomplish their mission, but drop as soon as it’s done. but here, i think, is when it becomes clear to damen that he and laurent can’t DO that. this territory is both unpredictable and too close for comfort, whether they’re approaching it ironically or earnestly. there’s no way for them to perform eroticism and remain instructive and detached. they are playing with fire.

damen realizes, when he feels laurent’s breath against his fingertips, that he can’t be normal about this. and he continues to think that, as i recall, for the remainder of the series.

laurent, meanwhile, will take much longer to have a similar realization, because that would mean inescapable attachment—something damen has never feared, but laurent fears more than anything else. like… emotional captivity, almost. (am i suggesting that attachment is emotional captivity? i think i am. hm, okay. anyway.)

with the way that this scene is written, we can see that things between damen and laurent are real. they’ve always been real, and they will continue to be real. the eroticism is in the improv, and we want them to continue “yes,and”-ing each other into a satisfying resolution. but, of course, the story is going to make us wait. and that just makes this scene even hotter.

from my breakdown of the book 1 garden scene:

i think what i like here, is that… yeah, it’s horny. it’s indulgent, easily the most blatant instance of kink we’ve seen so far. but it’s not really what i think frequent readers of this kink genre would expect, or even want to read—it is a subversion, with laurent completely disrupting the basic scenario that everyone else (but damen) in the scene wants to mindlessly enjoy.

how can i replicate this? set up a thing that follows expectations. don’t actually do the thing. do something significantly more insane than the expected thing. do not elaborate on the insane thing, leaving more questions than answers, and move on as if it wasn’t insane at all.

set up a thing that follows expectations = damen is playing master and laurent is playing pet. i think most people would expect damen’s archetype to exercise power over laurent’s archetype in that sort of situation, especially since he’s been denied the opportunity to assert his dominance in previous circumstances. i don’t know a lot about common dynamics in this specific kink space, but i do kind of assume that people would want to see laurent submit, both because of his characterization and physical appearance. and this would be an ideal place to indulge that expectation, characterization and plot be damned, since it can be called an act and stripped of actual consequences.

don’t actually do the thing = pacat doesn’t give an inch of her characterization to provide easy fanservice. the scene is erotic simply by suggestion, and laurent is almost entirely in charge��the instigator and the star of the show. damen, meanwhile, is physically passive and deeply confused by his own feelings and reactions. this is all consistent with their characterization in non-erotic scenes so far. they are acting here, but not as a “normal” master and pet. i don’t think they could be normal, even if they tried.

do something significantly more insane than the expected thing = check. see analysis above.

do not elaborate on the insane thing, leaving more questions than answers, and move on as if it wasn’t insane at all = check. yaoi break’s over, back to the secret mission.

The lobe of Laurent’s ear was pierced through with the ornament of his uncle’s child-lover. It suited him, in the mundane sense that it matched his colouring.

this happens during the bread scene, but i wanted it quarantined. way to harsh the vibe, damen

And there was a man of about thirty with a dark, closely trimmed beard sitting on the bed, who propelled himself off it and onto one knee when he saw Laurent. Damen sat down rather heavily on the chair by the door.

laurent launching into a clandestine business meeting while damen is still trying desperately to fight off the horny. lmao

The man drew a piece of sealed parchment from inside his jacket. Laurent took it, broke the seal, and read the contents. He read it slowly. From the glimpse Damen caught, it looked like it was written in a cipher. When he was done, he dropped the parchment into the fire, where it curled up and blacked over.

context: fuck, i don’t remember what this is. i don’t know. it doesn’t matter. like damen, i'm still thinking about the bread scene

‘I’m the type who takes a great deal of pleasure in small victories,’ Laurent said.

Laurent unpinned the earring. ‘I think we’ll be safe on the road in the morning. The men who followed us seemed more interested in finding him than harming me. They didn’t attack us when they had the chance tonight.’ And then, ‘Does that door lead to the bath?’ And then, halfway to the door, ‘Don’t worry, your services aren’t required.’

laurent drops the act so quickly. at a loss for any logical conclusion about what the fuck just happened, i think damen just decides to pretend he’s equally unaffected

i do wonder how laurent acted as soon as he shut the door and got some priavcy, though. hm.

When he was gone, Damen wordlessly picked up an armful of bedding and dumped it on the floor by the hearth. Then there was nothing to do. He went downstairs. The only patrons now remaining were Volo and the house boy, who weren’t paying any attention to anyone else. The house boy’s sand-coloured hair was a tousled mess. He went all the way outside the inn and stood for a moment; the cool night air was calming. The street was empty. The messenger was gone. It was very late. It was peaceful here. He couldn’t stay out here all night. Recalling that Laurent had eaten nothing but a few fraught mouthfuls of bread, he stopped by the kitchens on his way back upstairs and requisitioned a plate of bread and meats. When he went back into the room, Laurent had emerged from the bath and was half clothed and sitting drying his damp hair by the fire, taking up the majority of the space on Damen’s impromptu bed. ‘Here,’ said Damen, and passed him the plate.

okay, so here’s my read of this entire sequence: damen tries to get some space from his own recently-realized attraction to laurent. he remarks that it is peaceful outside, where he manages to get himself that space. and THEN he immediately tells himself to go back inside, because he can’t stay out there all night—can’t leave laurent alone for too long. he picks up food specifically for laurent on his way back up, sets things up nicely for them both, and greets him as if he never even left at all.

this is a parallel, i think, to the scene where damen abandons laurent in book 1. i just want to get that easy part of the analysis out of the way.

what i really find interesting here, is that it’s almost like… damen’s decision to accept his own attachment to laurent. he accepted his attraction to laurent during the bread scene, but attraction is a passive response. attachment is an active choice.

if attachment is emotional captivity, then this interlude is damen admitting to himself that he doesn’t want to be free. he knows what his heart wants—and unlike laurent, damen isn’t afraid to trust others with his heart. he doesn’t yet believe that laurent would treat his heart gently, which is exactly why he doesn’t give it to him. but privately, i think this is when damen finally admits to himself that his feelings are not only real, but also worth pursuing.

so he “yes, and”s the feeling, goes back inside, and fully commits to the bit, making sure that laurent is well-fed and cared for. if he’s going to do this, he might as well do it right.

‘Thank you,’ said Laurent, looking at the plate with a blink. ‘The bath is free. If you like.’

laurent’s little blink is very cute. and then he tells damen to go take a bath, so he (laurent) can privately process whatever the hell this is all supposed to mean

He told himself that this was no different from two dozen nights together inside of a warfield tent.

… but he knew that he was totally lyinggggggg

When he returned, Laurent had carefully eaten half of everything on the plate, and had placed it on the chest where Damen could get at it if he wanted it. Damen, who had eaten his fill downstairs and who didn’t think Laurent should be able to take over his bed when he had left untouched the vast comfort of his own, ignored the plate and came to stake his claim beside Laurent, on the blankets by the hearth.

head in my fucking hands. i love them so much. no thoughts, just domestic comfort. and they were roommates.

‘I thought that Volo was your contact,’ said Damen. ‘I just wanted to play him at cards,’ said Laurent.

great exchange. damen assumes that laurent does everything for a strategic reason. laurent just wanted to have fun. they’re breaking down their preconceived notions of each other, finally.

After a moment, Laurent said, ‘I don’t think I would have arrived here without your help, at least not without being followed. I am glad you came. I meant that. You were right. I’m not used to . . .’ He broke off.

from chapter 5: “You’re too used to doing everything on your own.” :’)

‘You’re in a strange mood,’ said Damen. ‘Stranger than usual.’ ‘I’d say I’m in a good mood.’ ‘A good mood.’ ‘Well, not as good a mood as Volo,’ said Laurent. ‘But the food’s decent, the fire’s warm, and no one’s tried to kill me in the last three hours. Why not?’

‘I’ve seen your court,’ Damen reminded him gently. ‘You’ve seen my uncle’s court,’ said Laurent.

excellent response for both damen and the reader to chew on

Would yours be any different? He didn’t say it. Maybe he didn’t need to know the answer. The king that Laurent would be, he was becoming with every passing day, but the future was another life. Laurent would not then be leaning back on his hands, lazily drying his hair before an inn-room fire, or climbing in and out of brothel windows. Nor would Damen.

a kingdom or this?

so far, damen has been able to tell himself that helping laurent is a way for him to help akielos—that he will leave laurent, as soon as he feels that his country is safe.

it’s going to get harder and harder for him to believe that, though, from now on. he did not just go back inside for akielos. if he had, he wouldn’t have stopped to find laurent a meal.

the lives in damen and laurent’s futures are just as real as their ruse downstairs. as in, only as real as they choose for them to be. so far, they’ve both assumed their own eventual choices, and each other’s, to be very set in stone. after this outing, i think damen at least begins to reconsider.

‘What really happened to make Kastor send you here? I know it was not a lover’s quarrel,’ said Laurent.

context reminder: he is asking this, fully knowing that damen is damianos. this definitely threatens his own cognitive dissonance. but he still asks, because he is vulnerable and relaxed.

I don’t know what I did to make him hate me as much as this. Why we couldn’t go as brothers to mourn— —our father—

i love damen as a character so much. beneath his determination to conflate niceness with goodness, is the crushing despair of knowing deep down that he can't trust people to treat him in the honorable way he treats them. he’s not angry or spiteful about this, even though he has every reason to be—just confused, and sad, and betrayed.

a younger laurent must have felt this way after his brother’s death and during his uncle’s abuse. but then came anger and spite, because he had no one to trust.

these characters were literally made for each other, like on a construction/craft level, and you can tell. it is really, really well-done.

‘My honourable barbarian. I wouldn’t have picked that as your type.’ ‘Type?’ ‘A pretty face, a devious mind and a ruthless nature.’

i love the mild anachronism of “type” here. also, lol. a rare moment of laurent not realizing his own dramatic irony, because there’s no way in hell he thinks at this point that damen genuinely likes him. also, i’m not sure if laurent sees himself as ruthless at all. he is pragmatic, but i don’t think he considers himself merciless or cruel.

‘Perhaps I . . . I knew she was ruled by her mind, not her heart. I knew she was ambitious, and, yes, at times ruthless. I admit there was something . . . attractive about it. But I never guessed that she would betray me for Kastor. That I learned too late.’ ‘Auguste was like you,’ said Laurent. ‘He had no instinct for deception; it meant he couldn’t recognise it in other people.’

i love it when my previous analysis is further reinforced by the text

And what about you?’ said Damen, after a difficult breath. ‘I have a highly developed instinct for deception.’ ‘No, I meant—’ ‘I know what you meant.’

when he’s relaxed, laurent talks like a total nerd. awkward attempts at irony, defensive self-awareness, and an obvious desire to be the most clever person in the room.

Now, after a night of earrings and brothels, he thought: Why not ask him about it? Laurent didn’t look uncomfortable.

the fact that damen has not only noticed laurent’s discomfort with the topic of sex, but is also considerate and thoughtful about it, makes my heart ache

‘I wondered,’ Damen said, carefully, ‘if you reserved your love for women.’ ‘No, I—’ Laurent sounded surprised. Then he seemed to realise that his surprise gave something fundamental away, and he looked away with a muttered breath; when he looked back at Damen there was a wry smile on his lips, but he said, steadily, ‘No.’

i’m guessing laurent’s thought process went something like this:

me, straight? lmfao i’ve had sex with a man

but that man was [redacted]. shit.

but damen doesn’t know about [redacted], so why does he assume i’m straight?

oh, i’ve got it. in my culture heterosexuality is taboo with the nobility, so damen would assume that i’m secretly straight and hiding it. dumbass. (smiles, because now he gets to call damen a dumbass)

‘It’s not my fault that no one in your country can think in a straight line,’ said Damen, frowning a touch defensively.

not the veretian homonormativity 😭

‘That isn’t why. She would have chosen him even if you’d had royal blood in your veins, even if you’d had the same blood as Kastor. You don’t understand the way a mind like that thinks. I do. If I were Jokaste and a king maker, I’d have chosen Kastor over you too.’

i’m pretty sure laurent means this as both a comfort and compliment. it also helps to reinforce his own cognitive dissonance between damen and damianos.

‘Because a king maker would always choose the weaker man. The weaker the man, the easier he is to control.’ Damen felt the shock of surprise, and looked at Laurent only to find Laurent gazing back at him without rancour. The moment stretched out. It wasn’t . . . it wasn’t what he had expected Laurent to say. As he gazed at Laurent, the words moved through him in unexpected ways, and he felt them touch something jagged-edged within him, felt them shift it a first, tiny fraction, something lodged hard and deep, that he had thought immovable. He said: ‘What makes you think Kastor is the weaker man? You don’t know him.’ ‘But I’m coming to know you,’ said Laurent.

this pulls everything between the lines of this chapter together beautifully. the mutual re-evaluation, the undeniable reality of their connection, a kingdom or this. i would love to know just how many drafts and editing passes this specific chapter went through, to achieve this degree of excellence.

also, a theme from book 1: "there is no honor in obedience."

[coff-in]

insect anon leaving their own coffin to ask: how would Ashley and Andrew (and your ocs!!! i want to hear more about them) react y too sibling [reader] dying because of their fault? like for example, in the scene where they are in the motel (?) and they go out because a hit man is trying to kill them, they accidentally leave [reader] behind and then they come back to find [reader]’s corpse

notes from coff-in: eheh! u wanna see my little guys react to the horrors :3 thank you, insect anon (also... what type of insect are you? u never said)

this is all assuming that sibling [reader] is close or well liked by the graves siblings. i mean... if they let you live after you escape then they must love you <3 ofc, ofc

andrew would be very distraught. it's such a preventable loss too, all it would've taken was a extra 10 seconds or so to tell you to leave the motel. he should've dragged you out, should've done anything to prevent this... instead he's having a panic attack in front of your corpse. it's hard for me to gauge how he would go about handling your death. we haven't really seen him react to a death of a loved one before... besides nina, but that was less of her being a loved one and more him being scared of getting caught committing murder, you know?

i can't see him completely moving on from your death. i don't think he would kill himself (not yet at least)... he would probably try to get you back from the demon/entity, maybe promising to sacrifice a number of souls to lord unknown when he/it appears at the hidden cult club. the way he handles your death would also rely on which route they go down.

ashley sees the vision and knows you're going to die. she's may or may not be directly responsible for your death. she's paniked too. this was NOT supposed to happen. she would try to bargain with lord unknown to get you back, too. for the most part... no matter what... she's mad. she's mad at the hitman for killing you, mad at the soda company for sending him after you, mad at their mother for leaving them in that fucking apartment in the first place... but most importantly, she's mad at herself. this is her fault.

decay would see andrew killing ashley and himself to join you, wherever you are after you've died. his resentment is definitely heightened. ashley has taken everything from him; his girlfriend, his parents, you. she has fucking ruined every single chance he had at a normal life... what's the point of trying to continue on? at least with this, you'll all be united again. the big happy family he deserves, without pain and consequence.

in the burial route... i mean they're still sad. hm. i think they'd take the time to mourn you properly. maybe on the bridge with their parents, or somewhere else (they don't want you to be remembered next to their parents, they actually love you, come on now) they still joke around with each other and the mood is lighter maybe.

i'm sorry if i seem apathetic in this. i'm not the best at mourning loss.

now it's time for my ocs reactions! wowie! i'm writing this for them separately, so that it's andrew, ashley, my oc, and then the [reader] as the graves sibling unit:

alexis would be bawling his eyes out. his role is supposed to be the pillar everyone leans on for support, he's the father that takes care of his siblings. having one of them die... it's heartbreaking. he's the oldest, he practically raised you like you were his own child. he's beating the shit out of the hitman (um, in his head after the hitman has died since... you know) after that, he's way more possessive and protective of andrew and ashley. they're all he has left of his family... he can't lose them. he won't lose them.

amber... is shocked. definitely shocked... okay, i'm pretty sure i can't hide it anymore, let's talk about amber for a minute. amber is obviously removed from the rest of the graves family. they're the black sheep of the family next to ashley. one thing that sets them apart is their nature. it's not wholly 'human'? idk if i would call them a tar soul like ashley (ashley is her own special cocktail of fucked up girlbossing that no one can replicate in my mind) but they do have bond or interest of the entity/lord unknown. they would find and succeed in getting you back. sure you're not the same as before maybe... but you're back right? almost as if nothing happened.

death to them isn't exactly trivial, but it's not a high concern to them. they assure you that something like this won't happen again. they're willing to pay the price to ensure that is the case.

amy breaks down. she's silent at first, quiet and muted. she's always been quiet and put away. she had to as to not stir up trouble for her family. but eventually... pop! she screams and thrashes in andrew and ashley's hold as she wrecks the room. what's the point in holding back, it's all ruined anyway! she wishes it was [the hitman] she was tearing into. she wants to feel his skin rip and bleed under her nails. once her rage passes over, she just sobs... curled into a ball on her knees, kneeling next to her dead sibling. it's not fair. it's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair! it should've been her! he should've killed her, not her you! it's like nina all over again... what did she do wrong to have you leave her?

andrew and ashley may not be able to reach out to her. she's so curled into herself that she can't hear anyone else outside. there's one less person waiting at home for her... it would make her more quiet and volatile. she already struggles with suicidal thoughts and ideation. it would tear her apart, having to choose to continue living with andrew and ashley or joining you in the afterlife. andrew and ashley have each other, don't they? they've always had each other! but you're all alone out there... she can't leave you alone, can she? what should she do? what would a good sister do?

aria would be upset. her reaction may depend on if you are her favorite or not, as she does pick favorites (the devious little woman she is): if you're her favorite then she's bloody furious, wishing she could kill that hitman a thousand times more, if not then she's sad, possibly even suggests eating you as a way of keeping you with them forever. either way, you were her beloved sibling and she's sad that she lost you. it's been a while since i wrote for anything devious but her reaction would be more along the lines of this post if you were her favorite. she'd be quiet and depressed after your death and her moving on from your death would also depend on which route gets walked down.

in decay, she's willing to nuke the entire family. she's lost one, her favorite, might as well bring the rest of her family along! things are already falling apart anyways. in burial, she'll put her feelings to rest. she loved you, she loves you, and she'll always miss you, but she needs to move on. she still has andrew and ashley there with her

a. vomits. they vomit and cry like a big baby because they are a big baby. the shake and cry and have tears and snot drip down their face until andrew and ashley snap them back into reality. crying isn't going to solve anything. um... they're just a big baby in my head. your death frazzles them completely and they look at andrew and ashley for guidance on how to handle the situation. this gives them nightmares. the fact they left you behind and that you died because of them! it's their fault... they could never move on from that.

they would struggle with fact that they're responsible for your death. their responsibility. their fault. their impact on the world... is that you're gone.

thank you for asking about my little guys <3 i love traumatizing them... it's always more emotional and impactful in my head tho :/ i hope this gives you some idea of their personalities at least. i wanna make sure that they're all different in their own way.

----

coff-in

[dyrewrites]

Pale Blood - Ron would like to be done now.

Ron’s job had been a meager living, but an uncomplicated one–as uncomplicated as an undead abomination that feeds on corpseflesh could have–and, sitting on the cold lab floor with an unconscious witch shivering in his arms, he missed it.

“It’s okay,” he soothed Odea, petting her sweat-soaked forehead. “Del will know what to do.” It had been a lie, Ron couldn’t know what Del knew, but the confidence in his tone had the intended effect.

Odea settled, breathing evenly, and looked up into Ron’s worried face.

“This is becoming a habit, isn’t it?” She asked.

Ron snorted more than laughed, which made them both laugh, until the door slid open and Delmas barreled in. The concern creasing his skin didn’t cut their laughter short, but the hard glare that followed when he noticed their expressions killed it.

“I thought someone died,” He said–in what might have been a growl had he tried harder.

“Nope, no deaths,” Odea said, pushing KB’s well-meaning paws off her chest and accepting Ron’s aid to stand. Then she motioned to the projected screens floating beside the microscopes, “just insanity.”

Delmas looked at Ron, who did not look back as the well-meaning cat had remembered he existed, then sighed and walked to the screens.

“Insanity?” He repeated, studying the information scrolling through the screens. It didn’t make sense to him, too many numbers and odd symbols and none of them recognizable.

“Yeah, see this,” Odea indicated a symbol in the jumble, tapping it. All that flashed and spun around that symbol fell away and it grew to dominate the screen in bright, golden colors. “It’s dust, gold in color but not material. I don’t know what material it is, actually, it’s not anything I know. But it’s in the blood and not just the blood in that bag but…in mine.”

Delmas watched the symbol flux on the screen, pinching and swelling with too many shapes to follow, and then he looked at Odea. She suckled her lip as she watched the symbol, the lenses of her glasses reflecting its golden color.

“Alright,” Delmas said, slow but definitive, “what does that mean?”

“You said Nash wanted the blood for the wolfmother, didn’t you?” Ron asked, relenting to the purring return of his shoulderpad as he joined them by the screens.

“Yeah but we don’t know why,” Delmas answered, keeping his eyes on Odea, “Do you?”

Her name squirmed in his mind, threatening to slip, but it had become easier to hold it the longer he kept near her which, of course, worried him more–and well it should.

She nodded, “I think so. There’s something in it, we can see that here,” she indicated the symbol again and Ron leaned to see. She continued, “But chemically it isn’t any different from any other blood…but.”

Odea did not finish, she kept her eyes on the symbol and Delmas watched them as they jittered.

“But?” He prodded.

She turned to him and those eyes were wide and wet and accompanied by tremors in her hands.

“It’s in me,” she whispered, but her voice rose as she repeated, “it’s in me like it’s in the rest and it…it spoke. It spoke to me.”

Delmas, eager for answers but unsure how to voice the questions, stood gawking.

Ron did not, “What did it say?”

Odea wrung her hands, adjusted her glasses and ran fingers through her hair before she tried an answer, “it didn’t speak in words. It spoke in desires. Like…like longing. There was rage in it and disgust but more was the want, a bottomless want.”  She didn’t look up to find their eyes, they were staring hard enough, “and I think…I think what it wants is…me.”

Ron fell speechless, but Delmas found words.

“It can’t be just you.” His assurance didn’t come off how he meant, judging by the wrinkle in her brow, and so he tried again, “the gold’s in the blood, right?” She nodded, slowly, and he sighed before he continued, “Well, it can’t all be witchblood, the color’s off, so whoever’s been sellin’ this gold-flecked fuchsia goo might be hearing whatever is speaking to you too. So, how ‘bout we find ‘em, and ask what they know?”

“Well, I-” Odea stopped there, because he was right. It wasn’t only in her blood, but it spoke through her blood, so maybe it spoke through others’ too.

Ron stared at what, to him, shown as an empty screen and grappled again with the complicated direction his life had taken. He hadn’t understood why Odea found the blood so fascinating earlier either, or why she kept asking how it glowed. It didn’t glow, not to him, and he had chalked it up to a witch thing. But Delmas saw it too.

And now it speaks? He thought, rubbing the thick hair on his chin, they can’t both be hallucinating, could they?

“Are you two seeing something I’m not?” He asked, popping a dread that had begun to swell. “Because there’s nothing on that screen for me…”

Ron shrank in the sudden attention, the intensity of their confusion.

“It-It’s a symbol,” Odea said, tracing the empty screen with her finger. “Swirling with little flecks of gold. You don’t see it?”

Ron shook his head, “Sorry hon, I got nothin’.”

“Well that has to mean something,” She told herself more than Ron.

“Whose blood is this?” Delmas asked, cutting through what he didn’t understand in search of what he knew; people–as running from crown to ass-end of a city day in and day out tends to teach one about the people in it.

“ID’s on the bag, but it doesn’t matter,” Odea said it too quickly, dismissive even, as her eyes remained on the screen and she chewed her lip again.

Delmas picked up the bag and rolled it around in his hands, looking for the ID, “Why doesn’t it matter?”

“It’s a fake,” Ron told him, “happens sometimes, especially with mer blood.”

“It’s mer blood?” Delmas said more than asked as he found the flicker of the ID encoded in the bag’s digipaper. Then he puffed–not a sigh or a gasp, but a puff; a sound one makes when the impossible has just become the probable.

Ron knew that puff, “What, you know our mystery mer?”

“I do at that,” Delmas kept his eyes on the ID, on the name he had read and heard and laughed at more times than he could count.

Odea scoffed, then said, “No you don’t, ID says the name is Fairweather and there’s no one in Dolor named Fairweather.”

“You’re right, there isn’t, but I still know who it is,” Delmas said through a smile too sad and Odea’s cheeks burned as she looked away.

“Who is it?” Ron didn’t question his sincerity–he’d never known the fang to lie.

Delmas did not look away from the name on the bag as he spoke, “When I knew him, he was Secil A’vor and Fairweather was a name he used when he didn’t want to be remembered…he goes by Savor now.”

While Odea's eyes reached a size and roundness previously reserved for dinner plates and Ron rolled his enough to worry of losing them, Delmas kept focused on the bag. Then his netlink flashed in hot yellows and he flinched, fumbling the bag.

Ron moved quicker than a dead man should, saving the bag but not Del. He did not look at him, did not register his presence, even as Ron waved a hand to ask for it.

The tune that sang in Delmas’ ear had been chosen special, as had the color, and the dread he’d stowed away—clawing and rabid in his veins—broke along his skin.

“Del, you in there?” Ron asked.

"Den?" Delmas answered, not Ron but the flashing tune, tapping as his mistake registered and repeating, with forced calm, "Den?"

"Minara," a young voice answered.

Delmas ignored Ron’s huff and the worried look blooming in Odea’s eyes and turned to gape at nothing as Den's last call replayed in his mind.

"Min-Min?" He asked the voice.

She giggled, "You know me?"

"Only by name," he admitted, "are you alright? I-Is Den?"

She giggled again and spoke to someone else, "This your boyfriend, Mori? He sounds cute. He's frettin' for you too."

There was a growl, familiar but far too deep and Delmas flipped around, searching for the projected screens in the lab—for their clocks, bright and red in every corner.

After halflid, well after, He worried. Wolves twisted with the gloom of halfnight–a fact Delmas knew too well–That is not Den.

The young voice returned, heavy with fear, "Mori and me is stuck, everyone's gone feral and mama is…busy." She grumbled away from the netlink, voice muffled but annoyed, then spoke clearly again, "Mori says we need a safe place, and you're that place."

Delmas sputtered but said nothing.

Min-Min grumbled again, then clarified, "know, he says you know a place."

Delmas did know a place, his place, but the thought of allowing Den to know it too stole his tongue—but it hadn't been the wolf that worried him, the wolf he would welcome with open arms and eager lips, the beast however.

"Yeah, yeah I do. I'll uh…send the address and meet you there." Delmas ended the call to the sound of excited giggles and turned to face waiting, worried eyes. "Den's homecoming didn't go so well."

Odea gasped, “Did he?”

Delmas shook his head, "He's fine, I think, but they need a place to hide. So I'm-"

"Playing hero," Ron finished, with more spite than intended, "Just try not to earn any new scars, won’t you?" He eyed Del’s ragged neckline and added, “Or lose any more shirts…”

Odea stared at them, studying the silent conversation in their eyes, then said, "What about the blood, and the vidstar?"

"Catch me in the morning," Delmas said, eyes steady on Ron's until the ghoul shook his head.

"But I don't-" Odea protested.

Delmas turned to leave and motioned behind him, "Ron has my ID."

"Damn right I do," Ron muttered.

Odea glanced at him, unsure if that had been anger or sadness in his voice, then watched the fang leave.

KB leaped off Ron's shoulder with a grumpy trill, clacking his claws across the floor to crawl up Odea’s legs.

Ron huffed, “You too?”

KB purred in his human’s arms, refusing to look at the dead one.

Ron grumbled, mumbled something about rounds and shuffled out of the lab.

Odea rubbed her face into KB’s vibrating belly and whispered, "People or not, they sure are a mess, aren’t they buddy?"

---

Taglist;

@rmgrey-author

@ruinmegently

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The math just adds up!

[demaparbat-hp]

Arsonist's Lullaby

[stil-lindigo]

lead balloon (the tumblr post that saved me)

if this comic resonated with you, it would mean the world to me if you donated to this palestinian family's escape fund.

--

no creative notes because this isn't that kind of comic.

I know I don’t owe any of you anything but I still felt compelled to write about my long term absence. And I feel far enough away from the dangerous spot I was in to be able to make this comic. I have a therapist now, and she agreed that making this could be a very cathartic gesture, and the start of properly leaving these thoughts behind me. I am still, at seemingly random times, blindsided by fleeting desires to kill myself. They’re always passing urges, but it’s disarming, and uncomfortable. I worry sometimes that my brain’s spent so long thinking only about suicide that it’s forgotten how to think about anything else. Like, now that I've opened that door for myself, I'll never be able to fully shut it again. But I’m trying my best to encourage my mind in other directions. We'll see how that goes.

I am still donating all proceeds from my store to Palestinian causes. So far, I've donated over $15K, not including donations coming from my own pocket or the fundraising streams which jointly raised around $10K. In the time since I made my initial post about where this money would be going, the focus has shifted from aid organisations to directly donating to escape funds.

If you'd like to do the same, you can look at Operation Olive Branch, which hosts hundreds of Palestinian escape funds or donate to Safebow, which has helped facilitate the safe crossing and securing of important medical procedures for over 150 at-risk palestinians since the beginning of the genocide.

[eggwishing]

I ONCE TRIED TO WASH THAT SCUFFED OLD THING WHILE HE WAS TAKING ONE OF HIS NAPS, BUT WHEN I TOOK IT OFF HE WAS WEARING ANOTHER IDENTICAL ONE UNDERNEATH! AND ANOTHER! I GOT THROUGH TEN MORE LAYERS OF THE SAME THING BEFORE HE WOKE UP. I WAS SO FRUSTRATED! WHERE DID HE EVEN GET THOSE FROM? THEY ALL EVEN HAD THE SAME STAINS!!

[endusviolence]

Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?

I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?

In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".

Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.

This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.

Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.

The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]

There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.

This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]

As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.

But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?

Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.

[catmask]

does anyone have like an anti aesthetic. like something you look at and can recognize as a complete fashion/interior design/artistic movement and understand it but it makes you shudder seeing it. i am not talking like “its morally bad” “its poorly structured” like just sheerly devoid of joy for you actually invites a repulse response.

[umblrspectrum]

so like is it specifically planets the solver craves or can it get by with just eating dirt off the ground

[inkskinned]

you're in the habit of denying yourself things.

if someone asked you directly, you would say that you love a little treat. you like iced coffee and getting the cookie. you drink juice out of a fancy cup sometimes, and often do use your candles until they gutter out helplessly.

but you hesitate about buying the 20 dollar hand mixer because, like. you could just use your arms. you weren't raised rich. you don't get to just spend the 20 dollars (remember when that could cover lunch?), at least - you don't spend that without agonizing over it first, trying to figure out the cost-benefits like you are defending yourself in front of a jury. yes, this rice cooker could seriously help you. but you do know how to make stovetop rice and it really isn't that hard. how many pies or brownies would you actually make, in order to make that hand mixer worthwhile?

what's wild is that if the money was for a friend, it would already be spent. you'd fork over 40 without blinking an eye, just to make them happy. the difference is that it's for you, so you need to justify it.

and it sneaks in. you ration yourself without meaning to - you don't finish the pint of ice cream, even though you want to. the next time you go to the store, you say ah, i really shouldn't, and then you walk away. you save little bits of your precious things - just in case. sometimes you even go so far as putting that one thing in your shopping cart. and then just leaving it there, because maybe-one-day, but not right now, there's other stuff going on.

you do self-care, of course. but you don't do it more than like, 3 days in a row. after that it just feels a little bit over-the-edge. like. you can't live in decadence, the economy is so bad right now, kid.

so you don't buy the rice cooker. you can-and-will spend the time over the stove. you can withstand the little sorrows. denial and discipline are practically synonyms. and you're not spoiled.

it's just - it's not always a rice cooker. sometimes it is a person or a job or a hug. sometimes it is asking for help. sometimes it is the summer and your college degree. sometimes it is looking down at scabbed knees and feeling a strange kind of falling, like you can't even recognize the girl you used to be. sometimes it is your handprint looking unsteady.

sometimes it is tuesday, and you didn't get fired, and you want to celebrate. but what is it you like, even? you search around your little heart and come up empty. you're so used to denying that all your desires draw a blank.

oh fuck. see, this is the perfect opportunity. if you had a mixer, you'd make a cake.

[wanderer-clarisse]

early morning sunlight at Bag End

[egophiliac]

crossing my fingers and wishing upon every star that chapter 10 finally brings us the tweel cards 🤞🤞

[hrokkall]

"Sad Cat Poem" by Spencer Madsen

[mythicalcoolkid]

You don't wish your disability was worse or more visible, you wish your disability was taken seriously. Please stop confusing the two, I guarantee you would not get the support you need JUST by being more severe or more visible. Please listen to visibly disabled people when we tell you it isn't better on our side

[lazylittledragon]

you know what fuck it we’re doing dadstarion